Rabbit Heart
by pixileanin
Summary: When your best friend in the world becomes the world's worst nightmare, would you have the heart to let them die? NetGen Dark/Humor/Romance. Albus/OC.
1. Chapter 1: Have a Heart

Chapter 1

Wren Longbottom stared out the window of her bedroom, searching the deep woods for the flash of light that shouldn't have been there. Woods weren't supposed to flash or glow or fade. Not even if the woods were behind the family home of wizards who made all sorts of impossible things happen every day.

A knock on the door pulled her back to the empty drawers, piles of books and mountains of clothes scattered around her room.

"Wren, it's Rose. Your mum sent me up to help."

Wren scowled at her overturned drawers. What kind of help did her mum think she needed? All she had to do was dump everything into boxes, and she'd be done. Except she couldn't stop thinking about the light outside...

Rose Weasley's knock grew louder, more insistent. "Wren, I'm your best friend. Open up!"

The omnioculars were still clutched in Wren's hand. She saw it for the first time, yesterday, at the edge of the lake. The light had flashed again this morning, right before dawn. It had been so bright that Wren had rolled out of bed to see what it was. By the time she'd grabbed the viewer off her bedpost and dialed back the focus, it had vanished. The memory crystal on her magical binoculars hadn't captured any of it.

At breakfast, her mum had tried to reason it away. "Must have been a reflection off the water."

A reflection of what?

The door thudded. "Come on, Wren. Let me in."

Wren waded through a sea of overturned photography magazines to the door of her bedroom. Her hand froze on the doorknob. The last time Rose had offered to "help" speed-clean her room, it had taken Wren hours afterwards to sort through her camera equipment to find the high-speed film. And that time last year, when she'd told Rose that she wanted to try to be "more social", Rose had "fixed it" by dragging her to the biggest after-exams party in Gryffindor history, where Wren had holed herself in a corner and used her camera flash to stop half-sloshed, happier-than-life bodies from crowding her personal space.

She probably shouldn't mention the light. Or the other thing that was bothering her so much.

That other thing was big. Bigger than big.

She'd done everything she could think of to make Gran better. The family's old medical tomes lay open on top of the piles of books on her bed. Faded notes filled the margins of mind-clearing charms and restorative potions, added over the years by Gran as she tried and failed to rouse Wren's grandparents from their permanent waking sleep. The charms and potions hadn't worked for Wren either, when her grandparents finally passed away and Gran had fallen into pretty much the same state. Weeks after the double funeral, Gran still stared into nothingness for hours at a time and refused to come home. The Healers hadn't offered anything stronger than the usual brain-numbing potions and useless advice to give Gran more time.

They said that some things were impossible to fix, even with magic.

Gran was old, they said, even for a witch. Wren's grandparents had been old too, but because of their perpetual condition (which Gran had refused to give up on, even 'till the end) Wren hadn't gotten to know them as real people. They were gone now, and in a way, so was Gran. It wasn't fair. Gran was the one who had always encouraged her when no one else understood. Gran had helped Wren take care of the injured animals from the woods, telling her that it was important to make a difference in the world. Now Gran was gone, and in her place was a scared, confused woman who was making them leave their home. Wren felt like she was losing a part of herself along with Gran.

Wren turned back to the window as the uneasy feeling returned, half-expecting to see the light again, half hoping that she wouldn't, that it was just a trick of some reflective surface by the lake. It was crazy to think that anything harmful could get this close to the house. Her dad's magical wards were too strong. Auror security was a habit he never let go, even years after leaving the Ministry and becoming a Herbology Professor. She considered asking him for help, but quickly shelved the idea. Her dad meant well, but his help always seemed to come with an equal amount of embarrassment. She got more than enough of that at Hogwarts, having to go to school with her dad.

A scuffle broke out behind her door, and then another knock. "Wren? It's me, Albus."

The new voice jolted Wren out of her head. She swiped the mess of books into the open box, letting them spill in all jumbled together, and rammed her dresser closed. "Just a second!" she called, tossing the omnioculars onto a bare spot on her covers.

"See? I told you it'd work. I'm her best..."

"Oldest!" Rose's voice cut in behind the door. "By four days, and only because you were born premature, Albus Potter!"

"We're sixteen, and you're still bringing that up? Amazing!"

Wren climbed over a mountain of semi-packed boxes and twisted the latch. "Hi, Al," she said, opening the door. "Rose."

Rose Weasley tossed her red braid behind her shoulder and shot a disgruntled look at her cousin. "Open the door for him and not me?"

Wren shrugged as Rose shouldered her way into the bedroom. "Oh wow. Looks like your closet blew up in here!"

Albus shuffled in the doorway, but Wren pushed at his chest. "Sorry, I can't let you in. Rose is right."

"Oldest friends aren't good enough?"

"Albus, you're brilliant at everything, but Rose is better at this sort of job." Faster, anyway. Wren didn't want to think about all the hours she was going to spend trying to find all her stuff after...

"She's better than me at moving boxes?"

"Packing underwear," Rose called from behind the half-closed door. "Are these even clean, Wren?"

Wren blushed when Albus didn't move away.

"I see," he said slowly.

"No, you don't. That's the point." Wren did a brief check, almost on an unconscious level, like she did every time she saw him; an eyebrow taller than her, five feet exactly. She squinted. Maybe a quarter of an inch more. Wren was forever grateful that she still had a friend who couldn't call her short and mean it.

"We'll call you back up when the boxes are ready," Wren said, pushing him back harder.

"Fine. Whenever you're ready," he said with a pout.

She plastered a grin on her face and pretended that the flush of red wasn't creeping up her neck again. They'd known each other forever like she'd known those woods forever. She'd been looking out that window since she was tall enough to climb up on the toy chest and press her nose against the glass. She knew every tree, every sparkle on the water. She'd never seen anything like that light before.

If Gran had come home, she'd have offered up a practical explanation or gone out to investigate, or _something_. Wren watched Albus blow his hair out of his eyes and trudge back down the stairs. He was probably just curious, having never seen her room before. If her great-grandmother was here, he wouldn't have gotten farther up than the landing.

Wren's thoughts turned sour, wiping the grin off her face. If Gran were here, she wouldn't be packing.

"Come on, Wren," Rose called. "Where do you want these omnioculars? With your photography stuff, or the Quidditch gear?"

"Just hang them on the bed post," Wren said. "With my camera. Leave the photography box open, Rose. I'm going to need it later." She'd pack the camera equipment carefully, after everything else was gone.

Wren sighed. Her new life wasn't going to be anything like it was here. She looked back at the window and forced herself to relax.

I'm not going crazy, Wren thought to herself. It was just a flash of light. It didn't mean anything. She wasn't going to stick around much longer to find out what it was anyway.

.

.

.

Albus came down the stairs with the last of Wren's boxes. He'd left the one labeled "Photography: Don't Touch!" on her bare bed, as she'd instructed. Half an hour ago, she'd come down with Rose, claiming to be "done" and "needing to take care of something important".

He set the box down in front of an empty shelving cabinet and stared out of the Longbottom's window. "What's she doing out there?"

He moved away from the window to let Rose look out to the copse of trees down by the lake.

Rose shrugged. "Taking care of the animals, I guess."

He peered through the window pane, but he couldn't see it. All she was doing was sitting there, under the trees.

"Don't stare off into the woods all day," his cousin said, nudging him. "You're supposed to help pack up the place. I need to get this to Mrs. Longbottom in the kitchen." Rose turned her back on the window and took an empty box into the next room.

His older brother ducked through the front door, making a show of towering over him before moving on to the stack of moving boxes. James flicked his wand at the top box and shrank it to the size of his fist. Then he picked it up and lowered it into the bottom of the bewitched trunk in the middle of the living room. He looked up as Wren's mother came out with a packed china box.

"Nice funeral, Mrs. L."

Rose had been right behind Wren's mother, carrying a set of potion bottles. She froze whispered loudly, "I don't think you're supposed to say that sort of thing out loud, James."

Hannah Longbottom smiled kindly as she wrapped the last of her china and put it into the box on the floor. "Thank you, James. I'll let Augusta know. I have another set of potions in the cupboard, Rose. We can add them to your box." She closed the china box and headed back into the kitchen.

"Wow! I think my great Aunt Muriel had one of these!" James held up a curious red handbag, and then another one. He dug around inside the box. "Hey, there's a load of 'em in here! And, wow. What's this?" He pulled out a small plaque with a small animal's head attached and held it up, chuckling at the inscription. "Wow. That lady's been hating on fanged gerbils since 1947!"

"You're supposed to be packing the boxes, not taking everything out!" Rose rolled her eyes at her cousin.

Albus picked up a stack of framed photographs that they'd taken off the walls. Most of them had been pictures Wren had taken. "Anyone got another box? I don't think we should pack these with the handbags." He eyed the plaque at the top of James' box with distaste. "Definitely shouldn't put them in with _that_."

Hannah came back into the living room with another box and James put the handbags down. She smiled sweetly. "I wouldn't put my fingers in those if I were you. I think they're full of mousetraps." As James dropped the bags quickly back into the box, she added, "Are you taking Herbology this year, James?"

"Uh, no, Mrs. Longbottom." He placed the fanged gerbil plaque on top of the handbags and sealed the box. "Double transfiguration didn't leave any room in my schedule."

"Who takes double transfiguration?" Rose asked.

Albus smirked as his brother tried to shush her with his hands. They all loved Neville Longbottom as a person, but no one really shared his passion for plants. Even Wren, his own daughter was only taking sixth year Herbology because she had a free slot in her timetable.

"Mr. L still out in the garden?" Albus asked.

"He's potting up a tray of seedlings to take with him. The patio is tiny and the building is already overflowing with extension charms. Whatever doesn't fit, he'll take to the greenhouses at school."

Albus was about to ask if he needed any help, but Rose grabbed his arm and beckoned back to the window. "Someone should go talk to her. She's been out there for ages."

"I'll go," Albus said quickly, setting down the lamp he'd been dismantling. He didn't want to get stuck with another box of mousetraps, or worse yet, hauling old Augusta Longbottom's cauldron collection out of the basement. He blew the hair out of his eyes. Wren had been gone for over an hour.

Rose wiped invisible sweat off her brow. "Good. She'll only yell at me if I try to do it."

Albus frowned. "She never yells."

"Never at you," Rose countered. "She's ready to explode. When I helped her pack up her room this morning, I could see it in her eyes. She's just waiting for an opportunity to scream at me inside her head. It's like getting a silent lecture from Professor Vector."

"I know what you mean." Albus remembered a few of those looks from Wren in the past. She had a way of telling people off with her eyes that made him want to melt into the walls.

"Maybe she'd be nicer to you if you'd stop being such a pushy..." James was interrupted by Mrs. Longbottom clearing her throat. "Sorry, Mrs. L."

"Thank you boys, and Rose, for helping us pack up the house today," Hannah said to the room. "And give my thanks to your mum, James and Albus, for sitting with Augusta at the Inn while we're here."

"No problem, Mrs. L. We're glad to help." James sauntered over to the broom closet to put its contents in the trunk as well. "Anything in here you want kept out?"

"No. It can all go in boxes." Hannah sighed as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

"I thought Ford was coming to help out too," Albus said. James' friend could have handled a lot of these boxes and he was of age too, so he'd have been a big help with the magical storage.

"Couldn't come. Just got his Head Boy letter and needed 'time to plan'."

"Nice," Albus said. Then he peered around the almost empty house. "Lori's not here, is she?"

"No." They both groaned at the thought of Ford's little sister, now a fifth year, who had recently decided that the Potter boys were the most interesting people on the planet. She'd followed James around for months last spring. It had gotten almost nauseating enough for them to ask Rose to have words with her. Almost.

"Be nice, boys," Mrs. Longbottom said, bringing a tray out from the kitchen. "It could have been your little sister with a crush. Anyone seen Wren?"

"Ooh, sandwiches!" James dropped his armful of brooms into the trunk and practically leapt across the room.

Albus was about to join his brother, feeling suddenly hungry himself until Rose gave him a pointed look and jerked her head at the window. "Right. I'll get her."

.

.

.

"Fly. Be free."

Wren struggled with the last latch, alarming the little rabbit hunched in the back of its cage, his foot rammed into the water dish and his little nose twitching in nervous panic. She looked back at the bungalow through the trees and thought "wands", but the baby rabbit was already at risk of twisting his bad leg and injuring it even more.

She tugged again, harder this time, rattling the whole line of empty cages. She wasn't supposed to use her wand out here anyway, but she would have risked a citation to get the cage open. There wasn't time for stuck cages and injured rabbits anymore. The rabbit shoved itself further to the back, struggling with the stuck leg as Wren rattled the cages again. If Gran were here, she'd have the cage open in a heartbeat.

Wren let out a cry of frustration and backed away from the cage. Gran would have told her to think practically and keep her head. The chipmunk with the barely healed gash sniffed at her sandal. One of the doves had flown off, leaving its companion still struggling to keep its balance in the branches above her. None of them had taken well to their early release, and Wren couldn't help but wonder if they'd survive the night.

If Gran hadn't lost her mind after the funeral, she would have let their family come home. Instead, they were packing up everything they owned. They were moving somewhere that didn't have a garden for her dad to tend, and too small for her mum's large soaking tub. Wren wasn't going to have these woods and a lake to escape to. She'd lived at the bungalow for all of her sixteen years. How could any other place be her home? Their new home wasn't even a real _home_…

If Gran would just _come back_…

She picked up a fist sized rock and pounded it into the latch until it fell away in pieces. It wouldn't matter anyway, since the cages were going to remain here and probably rust to pieces without her. Wren had to stop for a minute and catch her breath before she opened the cage and pried the little rabbit's foot out of the water dish. She lifted the tiny bunny carefully out of its cage and held the trembling creature to her chest. "It's alright," she whispered. "You're going to do fine out there."

Wren felt a wet prick as her eyes teared up. She knelt down and placed the baby rabbit onto the leaves, letting it sniff around and get used to the grit under its feet. The chipmunk had already scampered up to the lower branches of a nearby tree. She sat down and watched the baby rabbit hop around in a small circle.

"You have to go now, little bunny," Wren said as the little rabbit wedged itself between her knees. "There's a nice burrow out there just waiting for you," she said, feeling herself begin to cry all over again. She hated crying. It always gave her a headache for hours afterward.

A moving shadow caught her eye in the deeper woods. Wren scanned the trees and forced herself not to think of foxes and snakes and hawks and things out in the deep woods that were much worse than a sprained foot. The little rabbit pressed deeper into her jeans. She scooped up the rabbit out of it's burrow between her legs and held it tenderly in her arms. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into its fur. "I'm so sorry."

Rabbits didn't generally like to cuddle, but this one had. It was the reason Wren had become so fond of it over the last few weeks. All she had to do was support his thick hindquarters on her arm, and he'd bury his little nose right into the crook of her elbow. She kissed it gently on the head and put it back onto the ground. It hesitantly hopped off into the nearest bush and rustled the dry leaves.

In the distance, a large holding trunk floated out of a bottom story window and landed on the grass outside, waiting to be transported to the Inn where Gran Augusta waited for them. Wren was going to miss this place so much. She had pictures of all of it, but there were things that she couldn't take pictures of, things that she wondered how long it would take to forget once she left this place for good. She knew all the places where the water puddled after a fierce rain and how the wind brushed against her cheeks when she sat on the branches of the tree over the lake. The bungalow was near empty now except for the memories of her childhood.

Wren strained her eyes, tracking the baby bunny through the thick brush. She held her breath as the tiny creature slipped out of sight. He'll be fine, she told herself. There were wards all around the property. He had fresh water down at the lake, and early summer was the best time of year for fresh clover.

Then she saw it. It wasn't a trick of the morning light like she'd thought, or a reflection of the moon from the night before. It was real, growing larger and larger, covering the entire bush where her little rabbit had gone. Wren let out a short cry as the ball flashed very bright, and then just as quickly as it came, disappeared, taking the tiny bunny with it.

.

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* * *

A/N: Hello, and welcome to my story! I had a lot of help putting this together, so thanks to patronus charm, CambAngst and ladybirdflying for all of their eyes and for agreeing to beta this, even though I made them read the first draft (twice), and then changed almost everything. Also, thanks to NeoMiniTails, 1917farmgirl and WriteYourHeartOut for the motivation to get this posted. Without you guys, I'd be sitting on this for another year. ;)

Giving credit where credit is due: the title of this fic is inspired by Florence and the Machine (Raise It Up).

If Mad-eye Moody was a writer, I believe his motto would be, "constant improvement". Comments and suggestions are welcomed and appreciated!

[Edited on 18 January, 2014]


	2. Chapter 2: Trusting Hearts

** Chapter 2: Trusting Heart**s

Wren leapt two steps at a time, her camera swinging from the strap around her neck, as another wail echoed through the back stairwell of the Leaky Cauldron Inn. She'd only left her great-grandmother alone for a little while, tending the front desk while her mum had gone out for groceries. She opened the door to the family suite behind the rented rooms and called out, "Gran?"

She heard nothing at first. Wren snatched a floating pillow out of the air and returned it to the couch where she'd left Gran sleeping a half hour ago. Then she saw the white bun poking over the high back chair in front of the window. Wren's eye caught the fanged gerbil plaque that her mum had hung on the wall. It used to make Gran smile. Now, there was no reaction.

Gran was slouched against the cushions, her fists balled into a pillow. Wren hesitantly touched her arm. Gran's fists relaxed. She breathed deeply and her eyes slid open, blinking up at Wren.

"You're here."

Wren looked down worriedly at her great grandmother. "What can I get for you?"

Gran's eyes opened wider with a smile. "Your color has come back." Her gravelly voice halted and she coughed. Wren helped her sit up and propped the pillow behind her back for support, just the way she liked it. The older woman reached out to touch the side of Wren's face. "It's so good to see you," Gran told her. "Where's Frank?"

Wren's heart sank. "Gran," she said, gently removing the fragile hand from her cheek. She hated doing this to her. "They're gone. I'm not Alice. I'm Wren."

Gran's face changed slowly, as if her mind was taking its time to accept what Wren had said. She drew back and covered her face with shaking hands. "Oh, Frankie, I'm so sorry!" Her expression dimmed and another pillow flew up from the couch. Wren chased it across the room, and by the time she got back to Gran with a wet cloth for her face, the woman was openly weeping.

Wren put an arm around Gran's bony shoulders and rocked her until she settled down. After a while, they both moved to the couch, where Wren whispered calming words and tucked a blanket around her. Soon, Augusta Longbottom was resting again. The crease around her closed eyes loosened and her chest rose and fell slowly, haltingly, Wren swallowed her fear, scared to death that each breath would be her last. She sat by and kept watch over her great grandmother's troubled sleep through the afternoon. Her mum wouldn't be gone much longer.

It would have been easier if Gran had taken the Calming Draught, but Gran hated the potions. She said they put a cloud over her mind.

Something sharp dug into Wren's elbow. Wren swung the strap from around her neck and set her camera on the table. "I almost had that picture you wanted, Gran," Wren whispered. She had been out in the courtyard that morning, counting weeds behind her lens. "Remember the one with the dandelion seeds? The timing was only off this time by a half a second."

Gran used to be the best listener. Even after six weeks of fitful unrest, Wren still pretended that Gran heard every word. "My birthday's tomorrow." She forced a smile, but the waver in her voice betrayed her. She fingered the Gryffindor crest on her necklace, a gift from Gran right before… right before Gran's world changed. "I'm turning sixteen, remember?"

She'd been sure that Gran would snap out of it by now. There wasn't anything physically wrong with Gran. The Healers had said that she'd suffered from stress and anxiety over the state of her son and his wife for a long time. Now that they were gone, it was assumed that she was going through a hard adjustment period. They guessed that her mind was filtering through everything, and reliving the past was her mind's way of easing into her new reality without them.

The Healers had said a lot of things. There was every chance that Gran would wake up one day and be fine… But every morning was the same, and Gran still hadn't stopped waking up crying or hurling pillows through the air with wandless magic.

Muffled sobs shook Gran in her sleep. Wren gently rubbed her back to calm her. Gran had always been strong. Gran had been tough as nails, the center and rock of her world. After the funeral, Gran had broken into so many shards that she was hardly coherent anymore, and when she was, it was painfully obvious that she had left the best parts of herself with the people who had moved on without her.

The summer had been a whirlwind of packing and unpacking as they moved out of the country bungalow and into the living suite above the Inn where Wren's mum worked. They owned it, she corrected herself. It was their Inn now, their _home_ - the word sounded foreign in her head. Part of Wren's childhood had been here too - visiting her mum when she did weekend shifts for old Tom, having family dinners in the kitchen when her mum pulled the night shift - things like that. But there had always been a real home to go back to, a suitcase to unpack with souvenirs from Diagon Alley and a sticker from the sweets shop.

It was so different here. Street lights from the Apothecary across the street shone through her window, keeping Wren awake at night. The quaint lake and the deep woods were replaced with a bustling street than never slept anyway. Her parents called it a new start. They did it for Gran so she'd get better. But Gran wasn't getting any better. Wren was starting to think that she never would.

Wren wiped her face and ignored the pain that knotted up inside her. All the little injured animals... She missed them terribly, especially that little rabbit who'd disappeared.

"Wren," her mother called as the door to the suite opened. "How is she?"

"Sleeping now."

Hannah Longbottom closed the door and came into the living room, weary and worried. "The potion is still on the counter with her lunch."

"She wouldn't take it, Mum." Wren hated giving Gran the potions as much as she hated taking them. "They're not helping her get any better."

"They keep her calm enough to eat. She's getting weak, Wren."

"I know." Wren blinked back the tears before they could fall. "She did so well today, up until a little while ago."

She sat by Gran's side while her mother opened and shut closet doors in the bedroom. Her mum came back into the room in a fresh set of clothes. "Alright, I'm here." She flicked her wand at the oven to reheat the untouched plate. "It's only seven thirty and your dad won't be back for few more hours. Why don't you get out for a while?"

Wren's days had blurred together, either watching Gran or taking shifts down in the Inn while her mother watched Gran. Her dad had been busy at the Ministry, changing records, or at the property, preparing it to go up for sale. He'd offered to take her with him, but Wren hadn't gone. She kept hoping that if she held out just one more day, Gran would wake up and be alright. She'd nursed plenty of animals back to health out in the back of the bungalow. Gran had showed her how to set bones, feed babies who had lost their mothers and administer Healing Salve to injuries. The most important lesson that Gran had taught her was how to recognize a lost cause. Some injuries were beyond repair, even with Gran's magic.

With Gran, Wren kept telling herself that it was too early to tell. But the truth was that summer was almost over, and Wren would be back at school in a few days. "I just feel like she's not…"

Wren clamped up suddenly. She couldn't let herself think it. She grabbed her bag and camera case and headed for the door. When she looked back, she saw the potion in her mother's hand and the cup of tea in the other.

"Go on. We'll be fine." It was the resignation in her mother's eyes that Wren hated the most. She understood that it was all her mother knew how to do, all any of them could do, but the potions weren't going to fix Gran.

Wren didn't want to sit by another evening and watch her great grandmother slip under the Calming Draught. Yes, it made her calm, and yes, it helped her eat and rest, but the woman that stared listlessly out the window every evening with a cloud over her mind wasn't the Gran that Wren knew. Gran was a fighter.

"You're right, Mum," she said. Wren took in a shaky breath and willed herself not to cry. She would be strong, like Gran used to be. Wren gripped her bag tighter and opened the door.

"I need to get out."

Wren weaved into the bustling London streets and started walking. She didn't care where she was going, only that she was getting away. If she'd thought about it, she could have written her friends back and met up with them for a while. But every day that she found herself with some time on her hands, it was either too late to make plans, or she was too tired, or she hadn't thought about it…

To the people on the street outside, she had come out of a shabby little pub squeezed between a bookshop and one of those strange electronic gadget stores. They wouldn't have even seen the pub entrance if she didn't stand right in front of it. The city lights pierced through the dusk as the sun went down. A honking car startled Wren and she started moving again.

She marveled at how different and how familiar it felt all at the same time. Wren was used to hiding her magical world from the rest of the town she'd grown up in. Back there, if she wanted to get away, she'd tuck her wand into her pocket and climb a tree in the woods. Here, she hid in plain sight amidst the bustling traffic.

Wren walked a little farther until she reached a quieter section where trees sprang up along the sidewalk. Huddled forms sprawled across park benches every few feet, blending into the shadows. Wren wanted to wrap herself up in the darkness like she used to back home, when the sun went down and the forest came alive with sound.

Something moved off to her left. Wren's eyes immediately narrowed in and flitted over the shadows instinctively like she scanned the woods back home, searching for the odd shape in the leaves. It was small, moving awkwardly. She lost track of it for a minute, but there it was again.

On the opposite corner of the street, a small boy moved slowly, clutching a large basket to his chest. He sat on the corner of the road and wrapped his arms around the basket protectively.

After a few minutes, when no one came for him, Wren waited for the lights to change and crossed over. He shrank back as she approached him. "Hello," she said, stopping well away from him to give him space. "Are you lost?"

The little boy looked up with vacant eyes. He couldn't have been more than eight years old, and he looked like he had forgotten how to smile. Wren's mind spun; she'd know which wizard to go to in Diagon Alley, but Muggles had their own method of returning lost children to their families.

"Let me take you to someone who can help," she said. She immediately felt better when he nodded at her and started following her back down the street, lugging the big basket with him. She'd seen a policeman a few blocks back. He'd know what to do.

"Excuse me," she said when she reached the man in uniform. "I've got a lost little boy here, and I was hoping you could help him."

The man looked past Wren and down the street where she came from. "Did you just come from the park?" A black box buzzed at his side, and he took it off his belt to mumble something harsh into it.

"No, not me. He's…" She looked behind her and realized she was waving at nothing. "…gone," she finished lamely.

The man stared down at her, but he was really listening to the static voices coming through his little box. He tore a pen from his breast pocket and began scribbling notes onto a worn pad. Wren hated how he made her feel so small. "Go on home," he told her. "It's not safe." He murmured something guttural into his box and then brushed past her.

As the policeman headed off in the direction of the park, Wren wondered what had happened. The boy had been right behind her, she was sure of it, and then he wasn't. She turned around to see if there was someone else she could tell, and there he was again.

"You disappeared. I was trying to help you and you ran away."

"That man can't help me," he told her.

"But you can't stay out here alone in the dark." The policeman had already disappeared down the path ahead, but maybe he'd come back soon. "Let's sit down somewhere and talk."

She hoped the boy wasn't going to bolt again. She kept a careful eye on him this time as they walked back to where the city lights were brighter and found a bench. Wren sat down next to him, but not too close. He already looked uneasy and she didn't want to spook him and have him running off again.

"My name's Wren. What's yours?"

He didn't answer at first, his eyes darting back and forth between the moving cars and the bustling people around them. "Dillon," he said in a half-whisper. In the lamplight, Wren noticed dark circles under his eyes. He smelled like a sewer when he reached out and touched the Gryffindor crest that hung from her necklace. Wren didn't flinch. She'd taken care of injured animals that had smelled worse.

"I know this," he said. "I know you."

Wren sat up straighter and the boy's hand fell away. "Maybe I look like someone you know," she reasoned.

The boy shook his head. He looked tired and hungry, and she'd seen how the mind could play tricks on a person.

"Dillon," she said, "Is your mum around somewhere?" She'd had enough Muggle Studies classes to figure this out, and she'd been in London enough times to know most of the main streets. The boy looked small and scared and needed someone to take care of him. Wren missed being able to do some good, and if she couldn't help Gran, she could at least help this lost, little boy.

"No," he said. "I don't belong here." His eyes grew distant, and Wren couldn't help thinking of Gran again. "My mother has magicks."

"Magic?" Wren repeated, startled. She looked around quickly to see if anyone else had heard, but the closest people to them were a couple of men across the street, smoking cigarettes as they headed towards the park. Witches and wizards could get sent away for talking to Muggles about anything related to magic.

She let out a shuddery breath as the Muggle men turned the corner and didn't come back for them. No, that probably wasn't what the little boy had meant when he'd talked about his mother. Muggles hid coins up their sleeves and performed sleight-of-hand parlor tricks and called it magic all the time. That's probably what he'd meant. Muggles didn't believe in the real magic. To them, it was only make-believe.

She looked down at the boy and her heart ached. He had a mother. All they had to do now was find her. "Where do you think your mother is? Is she coming back?"

"No," he said. "She said I had to find it on my own."

"Find what?" Wren asked, wondering what on earth a mother would send her little boy out in the dark to find all by himself.

"Magicks," he said again, looking dead into her eyes. "Just like you."

Dillon eased his basket onto the worn pavers of the courtyard and watched Wren press the pattern of bricks into the magical wall. His mother had always told him that if he said the right things and acted the right way, and pretended to be what everybody around him assumed that he was, and then he would get what he wanted.

It worked.

"Mummy always told me never to speak to anyone about magicks, but somehow I knew that you were the same as me," he told Wren as they walked together through Diagon Alley. He'd seen her from across the park, noting her Muggle jeans, first thinking she was just another lonely girl in the night, but then when she'd come over to him, he'd caught sight of the school crest on her necklace. "You go to the wizard school, don't you? My sister went there. Mummy says I'm going there too someday."

Wren looked worriedly down at him. He didn't know how he looked to her, with his sunken eyes and his clothes hanging down like they weren't meant for him. All he knew was that Wren had helped him get into Diagon Alley when no one else would. It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of him like that. He was so busy looking up at his new friend that he stumbled in the road. Wren caught his arm before he tumbled down with his basket.

"Where do you think your mum might be?" Wren hadn't spoken much until they'd crossed into the Alley from the magical entrance. "You're not out here all by yourself, are you?"

Dillon clutched the over-sized basket to himself protectively. "No," he mumbled. "Are you?" Now that she was asking questions, he was getting nervous.

"No. I live over there." She pointed to the Inn. The early evening was already casting tall shadows over the building, bringing the lamp posts to life and putting everything in a flame-lit haze. It looked like all the other Inns that Dillon had seen, and he'd seen enough of them to know that they weren't anyone's real home. Maybe she was more like him than he'd first thought.

Wren nudged him gently with her elbow. "Would you like to come with me and get something to eat? We could talk to my mum for a bit. Maybe she can help."

"Help," he repeated, drawn into her kind eyes. Dillon looked at her with more purpose.

"Yes. I do need help."

"Come on. I'll take you inside."

"No," he said, a whine starting to creep into his voice. "That's not where I want to go."

"Um, alright. Where do you want to go? I can walk you home."

Mummy had said it was easier to hide among the Muggles, and they didn't pry into anyone's business like wizards did. But Wren had shown him how to slip in and out of both worlds with ease, something he didn't know people like him or her could do. And she was going to the one place that he'd wanted to be all his life. Mummy would be so proud of him if she knew that he was finally going there himself. All he needed was someone to show him the way.

"What's it like at the school?" he asked suddenly. "Do you get to use a wand?"

Wren laughed. "You're really excited about Hogwarts, aren't you?"

Dillon nodded eagerly. "Can you show me your magicks?"

"I'm not old enough. I can't do magic outside school until next year."

"Next year!" he whined and clutched at the basket. "I can't wait another year!"

"I was eleven when I got my letter. How old are you?"

"I'm old enough for a letter! It should have come by now. That's why I need to go there," he whispered, "to see why my letter never came." He blinked away tears and peered at her intently. His mother's words flitted around in his head.

_Ask nicely._

"Do you know the way to Hogwarts?"

"Only by train. It leaves from King's Cross Station every September first."

"I know where that is!" He'd been to the train station loads of times. Dillon's mother used to sit him up in her lap while they rode the rails so he'd be tall enough to see out the window.

Wren shook her head at his delighted expression. "You need your letter to get on the train." His face fell at her words. He couldn't help it. He didn't have a letter. Wren patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and then brightened. "I have an idea. Wait here."

Dillon watched with interest as she crossed the street to the Inn that was her home and went inside. He waited patiently for a few minutes. He was very good at waiting. But soon, his enthusiasm dimmed and he thought she might have abandoned him for the night. He started to turn away and lug his basket in the opposite direction, but then there she was again, hurrying back across the street towards him.

"Here." She pressed a folded piece of glossy paper into his hands. She helped him unfold it, revealing a web of dots and squiggles. "This is a map of Britain that my mum gives to visitors. Here is where we were in London," she said, pointing to the large green area at the bottom. "And here," she pointed to the top of the map, "is where Hogwarts is."

He peered at the blank spot on the map labeled "Highlands", set apart from all the major towns and roads. In fact, all the squiggles indicated that there weren't even any small roads going in that direction. "There's nothing there."

"It's magic. You can't see it." She pulled a Muggle clicky pen out of her jeans pocket, just like the one that the police officer had clipped to his breast. "Here is the castle, and there's a large lake, and right out here is the town of Hogsmeade." She sketched the scene onto the blank section of the map, bracing the other side against her knee so the marks would show better. There was a bubbly circle for a lake and little boxes for the town. Wren's drawing was only a small collection of hash marks, but the deliberate way that she placed them made the whole thing come alive. In his mind, he could see it: a little train station by the lake with a path around it to a large castle with towers and turrets and bridges... and then she was adding little dashes down the middle of the map in a wavy pattern all the way down to the dot labeled "London".

When she was done, Dillon traced the dotted blue line from the city to the tiny castle that Wren had added. "If I follow these blue lines, I can get to Hogwarts too?"

"I guess so. That's the way the train goes, but it's a long, long way," Wren admitted.

"What about how wizards do, with the turning and spinning?" He was thinking out loud now, having watched several men in robes and pointed hats doing that very thing. Mummy could do that, before she stopped doing her magicks.

Wren shook her head at him. "The castle is protected. No one goes in without permission."

"If I came, you'd let me in, wouldn't you?" He lowered his boyish lashes at her. "Because you're my friend?"

"Sure I would. Here, let me take your picture. Smile!"

Dillon gave his toothy grin to the flash that momentarily blinded him. He blinked a few times until his eyes readjusted. Wren was smiling back at him. "Now I will remember you forever." It was fun talking to a friend, he thought. She pointed to the basket he was trying to heave up into his arms. "Do you need help with that? It's an awfully big basket."

"No." He set the basket down gently and kept a protective hand over it. Then he paused and looked intently at her. "Yes." He gripped the lid of his basket and pulled it open, letting Wren see what was inside.

She gasped. Dillon loved watching people discover what was in the basket. "Baby rabbits!" She beamed at him. "Can I hold one?"

Dillon nodded. He felt a surge of excitement as she reached in and pulled out a small snow-white bunny from the bunch. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "This looks just like the little bunny I once had."

He cocked his head towards the rabbit and listened. "He likes you. Take him."

Wren cuddled the little fur ball close to her chest. "But I don't think I can have..." she started to say, but then the little bunny nipped her finger. "Ouch!" She pulled her hand away from it. "He's got sharp little teeth." The little rabbit licked where he bit her, and Dillon could almost feel her relax.

Wren smiled kindly at him and held the bunny in her arms, making soft, comforting sounds as it suckled on her bit finger as an apology.

She'd take the little rabbit with her for sure, now.

"Mummy wanted me to keep them safe. You'll keep him safe. Promise?"

"Yes, I will. The poor thing looks so tired. I need to get him settled." She turned to cross the street, but then squinted in the lamp light. "Do you know the way back to your mum?"

Dillon gave her a small smile. "I can do it on my own." He gripped the map tightly in his fist, finally having everything he needed to make his dreams come true. He watched as Wren crossed the street with the little rabbit in her arms. Then he hefted the basket up to his chest and slipped back into the night.


	3. Chapter 3: Cold Toes, Warm Heart

Wren woke with something warm and soft nestled into the top of her head. It took her a minute to realize exactly what it was. She was sure she had put the little rabbit in his hutch last night, but when she opened her groggy eyes and sat up, there he was, asleep on her pillow.

She watched the little rabbit curl into the dent where her head had left the pillow. Wren stroked him gently and then got up to put fresh water and pellets in his hutch. "There you go, little bunny," she said, smoothing back his forehead as she returned him to the hutch.

When she first started helping Gran care for injured animals, she never dreamed of having a pet of her own. Gran always believed that animals belonged in the wild, that too much cuddling would spoil their natural instincts. They'd cared for all sorts of small critters: birds, squirrels, and rabbits too. Letting them go after a healed fracture or a mended wing had always been the hardest part. This time, Wren wouldn't have to.

She examined the bunny gently as he nibbled at the alfalfa hay, noting with a keen eye the alignment of his hip bones and the healthy pink skin. It was impossible, but everything about him seemed familiar. The snow white fur and dark beady eyes looked very similar to the rabbit she'd helped to heal that summer. He would have grown to about this size too.

Wren grabbed her camera off the writing desk and shot a few pictures of her little bunny in his new home. She smiled, imagining taking him out on the green outside of Hogwarts castle. He'd enjoy sunning himself in the afternoons, and creeping through the tall grasses to nibble on clover.

The rabbit blinked, and Wren felt a strange prickling behind her eyes. She suddenly had a picture of vast meadows of the Highland hills and lonely paths through deserted villages. Her mind fogged up and the visions swirled and then faded away. Wren managed to shake herself out of it. Soon she was taking more pictures of the little rabbit - soft fur, little feet, twitching nose... she stopped when the camera made a dull clicking sound.

Wren pouted and popped the spent cartridge out of the camera. She threw it on her bed to rummage around in her closet for the box of photography supplies. Her pout turned into a frown.

"That was the last roll of film," she said to the little bunny. "What am I going to do now?"

Shuffling feet and low muttering in the hallway pulled her out of her thoughts.

Gran.

She closed the rabbit hutch and hurried down the hall to see if Gran needed anything. Her father's soothing voice was already ahead of her.

"Good morning, Wren." Neville Longbottom was already sitting on the couch with Gran. "Happy birthday."

"Oh!" Wren stopped dead at the end of the hall. Her birthday? Had it really been over a month since she'd seen her friends? She hadn't seen them since the move, and yesterday, Bunny had taken up so much of her attention that she'd completely forgotten what day it was.

Wren smiled. Thinking about Bunny made her insides warm and fuzzy. He was the best birthday present, ever.

"Thanks, Dad." She smiled at her great-grandmother. "Morning, Gran." Wren waited for a response, but Gran continued to stare blankly into the center of the room. Disappointed, Wren went downstairs for a cup of tea.

"Wren, is that you?" A tall, willowy girl in a floral apron squeezed herself through the kitchen door with a balanced tray of empty coffee mugs on her shoulder. She tapped the faucet twice, watching the sink expand to hold the full load of mugs. Then she tapped her wand on Wren's kettle, which began to steam and whistle instantly.

"Thanks, Nellie." Wren gave her a grateful smile and poured the hot water into her mug.

"Don't you have the day off?" Nellie tucked a flyaway hair back into her tightly braided plait and leaned back to watch the mugs scrub and rinse themselves. She was two years out of Hogwarts, working morning shifts at the Inn, and afternoons drafting patterns and making alterations at Madam Malkin's Robes down the road.

Over the summer, Nellie had been a godsend to Wren's mum, allowing her time to rest after the long evening shifts.

"I was awake anyway," Wren said, rubbing her face with the back of her hand.

"Gran's up?"

"Yes and no." She picked up a dish towel to dry the mugs, but Nellie stopped her.

"Let me do it." Nellie did a complex swish of her wand at the row of wet mugs and a blast of hot air dried them instantly. "Next year, you'll be able to do this part," she said with a smile.

Wren scrunched up her face. "Next year, I hope I'm doing something more exciting than washing dishes."

"Probably taking pictures of famous people with that camera of yours," Nellie said smiling. "They'll be here soon." She looked Wren up and down. "Is that what you're wearing for your party?"

Wren flicked a soap bubble with her fingers. "It's my birthday. I can wear what I want, right?" Famous or not, the Potter brothers and the Weasley clan were her closest friends. They weren't going to judge her based on her clothes. "This is my last week before school. It'll be nothing but uniforms until Christmas break. Besides, Rose promised to keep it small. Our roommate Callie, James and Albus, and a few others..."

"You're going to wear that for Albus?"

"No," Wren said, turning pink. "I'm wearing it because it's comfortable." She liked her faded jeans and loose-fitting olive green t-shirt, and was quite sure that Albus Potter wasn't going to care what she wore. Ever since she'd confided in Nellie about her crush, the girl wouldn't stop teasing her about it.

In Wren's mind, it wasn't even a remote possibility. Most times, when she'd gone anywhere with James and Albus Potter (not so much with Rose, though), she'd have to fight the urge to run and hide. Being shorter helped. When photographers showed up, she got cut off at the forehead or managed to duck behind someone before the flash went off. Most other girls loved being in front of the camera. Wren preferred to be behind it.

Nellie gave her a knowing look. "At least let me get your hair straight. Accio brush!"

A hairbrush flew into Nellie's outstretched hand, and Wren let Nellie's dishpan hands fuss over her for a few minutes. "This looks nicer than the pixie cut you usually have."

Wren's usual cropped look was now grown out to just above her shoulders. "That's what happens to hair when you forget about it."

She liked not having to mess with it in the morning. It never got tangled up her camera strap... wouldn't get in the way of her cuddling with Bunny… was that what she was going to call him? She had a sudden flash of the woods behind the bungalow, a yearning to go back there…

Nellie was telling her something and Wren was jolted out of her head. "Sorry, what?"

"I was saying how you should have gone to visit your friends, instead of being locked up in the Inn all summer. They could have at least come to visit you."

Wren shrugged. Maybe she should have invited her friends to come round. Rose had showed up once, the week after the move, but Wren was still brooding and hadn't been such good company. She'd declined their offers to visit them, including James' repeated bribes of their mum's toffee pudding. Albus' invitations had made her laugh, listing all the things they'd do together - underwater macramé, tree hopping... even a half-cocked idea of meeting her in London for lunch and then taking in a museum that he'd never been to. At least Wren thought he'd been making up that last bit.

No one told her she had to stay, but Wren felt like she _couldn't _abandon Gran, just in case. Wren didn't have anything to offer her friends except the depressing news of her great grandmother's non-progress.

They all had such exciting, event-filled lives. Why would they want to come out and watch her help out at the Inn or care for Gran?

"You could use some rouge," Nellie commented.

"No thanks," Wren said firmly.

Nellie threw her brush up into the air where it vanished with a pop. "Well, that was easy." They both heard the sparks go off in the other room, signaling that someone was about to arrive through the floo. In spite of her declaration that no one would care, Wren smoothed down her shirt and gave Nellie a nervous glance.

"You look nice," Nellie told Wren. "At least your hair does," she dug in. Wren stuck out her tongue. "Have a happy birthday!"

.

.

.

When she came out of the kitchen, she didn't recognize the tall, lanky form sitting with their back to the fireplace. She shrugged it off as the fireplace flashed green and a girl in a cloak with long fiery hair came tumbling out. Wren watched her sort herself out and throw silvery dust back into the flames, signaling the floo network was clear for the next traveler. Then the girl caught sight of Wren from across the tavern.

"Wren!" Rose called out and rushed over to her. "I missed you!"

Wren gave her friend a half-nervous squeeze as the fireplace flashed again. She craned her neck to see the taller of the two Potter brothers step out of the fireplace.

Rose beckoned to her cousin. "James! She's over here!"

He shook the soot and floo powder off and then tossed his robe onto the back of a chair, revealing jeans and a t-shirt underneath. "Hello, birthday girl!"

Wren let out a little "oof" as James squeezed her tight and lifted her off the floor. "Lily would have been here, but she's at league practice. Thinks she's going to be the next Quidditch star like Mum." His grin faded as he looked around the tavern. "Where are all the balloons and streamers?"

"We've been busy," Wren said.

"I'll fix that!" James brandished his wand, but Rose grabbed his arm.

"You'd better ask first. This isn't like being at their house."

"But they own it now, don't they?" James looked to Wren for confirmation. The bungalow flashed inside her mind, but Wren shoved the image away. She opened her mouth to reply, but another stronger flash of the bungalow came to her. Wren fought for control inside her head. She didn't need to be reminded of what she'd given up.

James cocked his head and gave her a quizzical look. "Yeah, you're right, never mind." He ambled over to Wren's mum who was coming down the stairs to relieve Nellie. "Mrs. L, I got a question for you."

Wren blinked a few times when Nellie came over to hug her goodbye, as James trailed behind her mum like a lanky ogre, gesturing with his wand arm about the lack of decorations. Wren wasn't sure what had just happened. She missed her old home, but she'd never felt it pulling at her like this.

Her mum patted James on the shoulder to lower his wand as they exchanged words. He bounded back over to the girls and pointed up to the balcony overlooking the dining room.

"Mrs. L says I can decorate up there, but after the lunch crowd clears out. So we'll have ourselves an afternoon party, yeah?" His eagerness made Wren bubbly until he ruffled her hair, which she'd always hated. She was sure that she'd reached the age limit for hair ruffling and cheek pinching by now.

"Where's Albus?" she asked, ducking away from him as he tried another swipe at her head.

James snorted. "He's over there, too embarrassed about his pants or something." He picked up a stray fork from the cutlery tray that Wren's mum set on the bar. "Watch this!" Rose groaned as James commenced a balancing act with the fork on his forehead.

Wren looked around for Albus, half-expecting him to sneak up behind her and crack a joke.

She spotted the unknown figure, still sitting by the floo and went over, intent on asking if he'd seen a short, wiry dark-haired boy come in when she wasn't looking. "Excuse me," she said as he turned around.

Wren's eyes widened as Albus stood up, a half head taller than her. He rubbed at a strange glow coming from under his shirt sleeves and shuffled something in his hands. "Happy birthday."

She felt silly having to look up at him and urged her brain to form a thought, but the stuff between her ears had temporarily shut down. Wren floundered. "You're not supposed to be taller than me."

"Your let your hair grow," he said with a quirky smile.

Wren reached a hand up to her hair and dropped her eyes quickly. Then she saw what James had been talking about. Albus' ankles were bare between his socks and the cuffs of his pants. "Your pants are too short." She looked back at his face and squinted. Her words were finally coming back, thank goodness. "Last time I saw you, I didn't have to look up."

"Last time you saw me was six weeks ago. I shouldn't have listened to Rose. I wanted to come and see how you were. Your letters didn't sound like you."

Wren's stomach knotted up. "I wouldn't have been any fun."

"You wouldn't have been alone." Their eyes held for an awkward moment, and Wren finally blinked it away. Albus had always been a good friend, and just because he was taller now, didn't mean that things were any different between them. She mentally berated Nellie for making her second guess her choice of a drab t-shirt. If Wren wore anything dressier, and with him being so tall now... Wren took a step back. Even if she'd had a reason to show anything off, would she really have wanted him to look at her like that?

He shrugged his comment away before Wren could think of anything else to make things weird between them. "Mum says I have to pick out new clothes while I'm here or she's threatened to go shopping for me. Oh, and this is for you." He pressed a small package into her hands.

Wren immediately noticed the little tag that had her name on it in the shape of a leaf. She had to look up again to thank him. "Uh, thanks."

Albus was still smiling, but it wasn't the comfortable smile that used to be eye level with her. That had definitely changed. But something else about him was different. It was his whole... everything. Not just the long arms and legs.

A clatter of cutlery made her jump. James laughed, spilling another fork onto the floor. "Two minutes, that's a new personal juggling record!" He scooped up the utensils and dumped them on the nearest table. "I know! Give me your camera, Wren. I'll take a group photo."

"You can't," Wren said.

"What do you mean, we can't?" Albus asked. "You're always taking pictures. It's what you do."

"I ran out of film," she breathed.

Albus' smile changed to disbelief and he eyed the small box in Wren's hands. "You never run out of film."

Wren remembered that her last frame was spent on the little rabbit. She was never without her camera either. What happened? Bunny. A fog settled inside her head and an image of the little rabbit popped up. Long ears. Beady eyes. She shook herself out of the sudden daze and Albus was in front of her, looking at her funny.

"That's brilliant!" Rose exclaimed. "I meant, not that you ran out of film, because that's a tragedy."

Two more flashes in the fireplace and soon, Wren's roommate Callie joined them, along with Albus' roommate, Scorpius Malfoy.

Callie rushed over and gave her a tight squeeze, her wavy hair brushing against Wren's cheek. "Happy birthday, Wren!" Then she hurried over to do the same to Rose.

The tall, blonde boy raised his hands at her. "Air hug," he said, passing her by without contact.

"Thanks," Wren said, distractedly watching Albus' friend shake the soot out of his hair.

Wren was finding it difficult to concentrate on the conversation around her. She replayed parts of it back to herself; they'd been talking about the summer.

She'd always relied on Albus to keep her from feeling like the shortest person in the room, but now as he stood next to Scorpius, dark and light hair towered above her. She watched the two boys exchange greetings as a pressure built behind her eyes. She should have written back, or visited. Or something. Distraction pulled at her again, this time with a rushing in her ears.

Had it really been six whole weeks?

Wren stood motionless as the room threatened to spin. Images came rushing at her out of nowhere, a grassy hill, and clouds above her moving at an accelerated pace. She involuntarily ducked as glasses clinked together across the room. She tried to slow her breathing, concentrate on where she was, but she was overwhelmed with a detached floating sensation, like she was somehow separated from the things happening around her. She tried to focus on the people in the room, hoping that whatever it was would go away.

Off to her right, Rose was whispering to Callie and James, while Scorpius pretended to listen in.

Albus ignored the group behind him. "Birthday hug?" He blew the hair out of his eyes.

Wren swallowed the strange feeling in her gut and nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head in his chest, trying to block out the strange visions as Albus' arms wrapped all the way around her.

Panic welled up inside, and she had this sudden urge to flee, to run for cover. A fluttery heartbeat. Danger. Heat pricked at the edge of her eyes. Wren tensed up and tried to blink back the unshed tears that threatened to fall for no reason.

She didn't know what was happening to her. Wren pushed herself away from the hug and felt the panic subside. Albus frowned at her.

"Hey," he said, looking at Wren critically. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Wren said, plastering a smile onto her face. But then it was back, stronger this time. She felt short of breath, the pressure behind her eyes to the point of pain. Something was very wrong. Her eyes darted to the stairs. "I'm sorry," she said. "I... I have to... I'll be right back."

She bolted up the stairs and ran through the living suite past her dad. Wren ducked under pillows hurling through the air and opened her bedroom door. Her eyes darted around until they found Bunny clamoring at the hutch door. She discarded Albus' box on her bed and scooped up Bunny into a hug. Outside her room, she heard her dad's soothing voice and the plops of pillows falling to the floor as Gran calmed down. Her eyes watered as the pressure finally let up and her beating pulse slowed back to normal.

"You're alright, little Bunny," she whispered to the quivering ball of fur. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. Everything is going to be alright."

.

.


	4. Chapter 4: Hearts and Minds

As Wren practically flew up the stairs, Albus wondered where he'd gone wrong.

"She looked upset," Callie said, crossing the empty tavern. The rest of the group migrated over to Albus, who was still staring up where Wren had disappeared.

Scorpius scratched soot out of his hair. "Can't wait for that apparition license. I hate the floo." He winced as a door slammed above them. "We should get her presents. Girls like getting stuff."

Albus felt like he'd just swallowed a Bludger. He'd held the plan in the palm of his hand. "I already got her a present," he said. But instead of being delighted, Wren had taken it and bolted.

And she'd run out of film. What was wrong with her?

"Perfect," Rose said. "You can keep her company while the rest of us go shopping!"

James groaned. "Can't we just get ice cream?" He waved to Mrs. Longbottom as Rose pushed him towards the door.

Scorpius gave Albus a clap on the back. "You should go for it," he said quietly. "We wouldn't mind waiting for the two of you." He snickered loudly, and got a cold stare from Rose.

Albus shot a look at his brother, in case he'd heard Scorpius' jab, but James was hanging back to inspect the balcony from a different angle.

"Balloons there. Streamers from there to there," he hummed to himself, seemingly oblivious to the comment

When James had moved on to the other end of the tavern, Albus sighed in relief. "It's not like that," he said. Scorpius snorted. "Alright it is," he conceded, "but it's complicated."

Albus' neck started to prickle, a sensation that he'd grown way too familiar with over the last few weeks, no thanks to his brother. He put his hands defensively into his pockets.

"How can it be complicated?" Scorpius asked as the air around them got thicker. Albus quickly felt around the coins and other items in his pockets, searching for the one with the ribbon, as Scorpius gestured with an aristocratic arm. "You tell her you like her and...oof!"

Albus shoved Scorpius out of the way. He quit trying to feel for the specific item in his pocket and gripped the handful of trinkets in his fist. A cold sensation enveloped his lower half. And then it faded. He stood still and wiggled his big toe inside his shoe to make sure he wasn't going to topple over before bending over and offering a hand to his friend.

"Jelly Legs Jinx," he whispered to Scorpius as he helped him up. They both shot a glare at James, whose grin faded as he snapped his head back around and ambled out the door, pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary.

"That blue arsed chancer! My boots are all scuffed up!" Scorpius brushed himself off. "How'd you manage to block it?" he added excitedly.

Albus pulled out the two-inch braid of unicorn tail that had saved him from an embarrassing fall and silently thanked it for working. "I've got fifteen anti-charm items in my pockets and old Kreacher's put anti jinxes on practically everything I own. Plus, I'm still sussing out these anti-hex arm bands. I'll have to tell the seamstress not to use the fitting charm on me, or Madame Malkin's shop will be blasted clear into London."

"Awesome!" Scorpius hissed.

Albus shuddered. "Pins are not awesome. And remember, you can't tell anyone."

"Got it." Scorpius gave a knowing nod. "See you later." He followed James out the door and Albus leaned against the stairwell, waiting.

For what, he wasn't sure anymore.

A few minutes later, Albus was glad to see Wren come down the stairs, still pale, but a lot calmer. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but suddenly all the second-guessing slammed back into him.

Maybe she wasn't ready. Maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe she wasn't interested in him, and he was just spinning his wheels and heading for a fall. He tried to picture his remaining two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with Wren never talking to him again, ignoring him in the halls and sitting as far away from him in class as she could. The nightmare inside his mind expanded, leading to schisms between their friends and being taunted in the Great Hall by the entire House of Gryffindor.

"Albus?" Wren tilted her head. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

He shook his head, banishing the worst-case-scenario from his thoughts. Wren would never do that to him. If she was going to turn him down, she was going to be nice about it. Somehow, an image of Wren politely reasoning out the ways that dating him wouldn't be a good idea didn't boost his confidence either.

He cleared his throat and attempted to sound casual. "Ready?"

She looked around at the practically empty tavern. "Where is everyone?"

"Shopping for your presents. They want it to be a surprise. Since I already got you something, they said I had to stay with you."

He'd meant it in a joking way, like he always did, but Wren's face fell.

"You didn't have to wait if you didn't want to."

"No, I meant..." Albus' hair fell into his eyes and he blew it to the side. "I wanted to. I have this fitting appointment in a little while and thought you might want to come along. We could catch up on things." Yes, that sounded like a safe thing to say. There were so many things he wanted to say to her and obviously he'd gotten off to a rotten start. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We could talk, maybe?"

Wren studied him silently, like she did when she was trying to fit one of her photographs into a frame. "Is this about what happened earlier?"

Earlier? Albus wracked his brain, searching through the last twenty minutes for a reference. All he could remember was working through the knot in his stomach so he could talk to her and give her his gift, and then forcing himself to go through with his plan, which by the looks of things, wasn't going at all the way that he'd imagined.

Wren wrinkled her nose. "Because if it is, I don't want to talk about it." Before he could open his mouth, she spun on her heel and was out the door.

Puzzled, Albus followed Wren out of the Leaky Cauldron. "Wait," he called out, and caught up to her in a few long strides. "You don't have to go with me. We're all supposed to meet up for ice cream so if you want to go there instead, I'm sure they won't take long." Albus fell into step next to her as she continued walking. He wasn't even sure where she was going. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

She shrugged without slowing down. "I'm not mad."

Albus remained quiet as Wren automatically led him up the Alley to a hovering pair of oversized, gilded scissors. She ducked under the sign, as if she'd agreed to go with him all along.

Wren had helped Albus with loads of problems (like that time she'd had to explain to him why it was unacceptable to substitute the word "banana" for "wand" during study sessions with his girlfriends) and he was almost positive that if he staged his current situation as a question, she'd talk him through a logical way to move forward. Unfortunately, she didn't want to talk about it, he reminded himself. Which... what did that even mean, exactly? He caught the door before it closed and stepped into the clothing shop.

Albus hadn't a clue about what he was going to do or say next. She'd said that she wasn't mad, but he'd learned (from her, actually) that even practical girls didn't always mean exactly what they said. When it was just the two of them, he could get her to laugh and joke about things. She wasn't laughing now.

.

.

.

Wren sat next to the big display window with her feet tucked under her chair. She stared out into the street while the seamstress ushered Albus to a raised pedestal and bustled around inside Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"No fitting charms? This will take a little longer." The seamstress disappeared behind a thick curtain in the back. Both Wren and Albus heard a high-pitched squeal of "Potter!" and then a second, disappointed cry of "the shorter one?" which made Albus flush and Wren cringe. A younger seamstress came out from behind the curtain wearing a polite smile that widened at the sight of him. Wren watched as Albus gave the seamstress a distant, yet courteous nod. He eyed the measuring tape and cup full of stick pins warily when she stepped onto the fitting platform.

Wren's head was still fuzzy from a mixture of quivering Bunny and a taller Albus. As the younger (and prettier) seamstress began pinning him up with brown paper, Wren wondered just how many girls would be interested in him this year. His girlfriends in the past had all acted nice enough, but their cold, detached smiles gave her the feeling that they weren't always thrilled to be spending time with Albus' friends. But she hadn't had to worry too much. Sometimes in as little as a week, single Albus would return to hang out with her by the big tree after classes. She couldn't help getting immense satisfaction from it.

Albus looked like a statue on the dais, reminding Wren suddenly of the stillness in the Hospital Ward, her grandparents in their beds, unmoving, unblinking. Wren had confided in Albus once about her irrational fear that they'd rise up out of their beds like zombies. It had creeped her out so much that she had to tell _someone_.

She was creeping herself out now. Wren shuddered and concentrated on the living Albus in front of her. He blinked. He smiled. He winced as the seamstress got too close for comfort with her pins.

Wren felt a warm sensation crawl up her spine when the seamstress left the dais for more pins and Albus turned to with his wide, friendly smile. If she could take a picture of how she felt inside when he did that.. what would it look like? She let the fluttery sensations dance around her insides for a short while before she squashed them out and curled up tighter in her chair.

So far, Albus hadn't noticed when she accidentally stood a little too close to him or laughed a bit too loudly at his jokes. She'd tried to remain quiet and unassuming, because then no one would notice her, which was usually the way she liked it. Actually, that wasn't exactly true. She'd gotten noticed by Ian Sloan for a few weeks last year, but it had felt more than a social experiment than any crush she'd thought she'd ever had.

When the seamstress came back with another cup full of pins, Albus' whole body went rigid. Wren felt her own insides seize up, and this time, it wouldn't simply go away when she told it to. Hanging out with Albus wasn't a big deal before. Why did it have to be different now?

This morning had been different. The strange visions and the panic attack had scared her silly.

Those specific symptoms had been highlighted in Gran's magical maladies texts, like Gran had known something was coming.

Wren could quite possibly be starting to lose her mind.

Albus stepped off the fitting dais, and Wren got caught up in it, almost like it was slow motion as he walked towards her - pushing his hair back and giving her a bone-melting smile. Wren did her best to shake herself out of it as he leaned over the counter and murmured something to the seamstress. She nodded with a sly smile, and waved the packages back behind the counter.

"I'll bring these to you when the others are ready," the woman said sweetly, and disappeared back behind the curtain.

Wren blinked a few times, as the tingling in her gut turned into a tight ball of nerves. She'd been away from him too long. Yes, that was the rational explanation. If she'd seen him more often over the summer, she wouldn't react so badly, she'd have been used to seeing him all the time. It wouldn't have been such a big deal if she'd let him come 'round over the summer. She could have had someone to lean on, someone to comfort her and give her hugs. Albus hugs were easily one of her favorite things in the world, right up there with blueberry ice cream and automatic focus lenses.

Or, she could tell him. Right now. Dump her fluttery guts out in the open and let the drama, heartbreak and recovery play out before they boarded the train for the new school term.

But then it would be over. She never wanted it to be over.

Indecision must have shown on her face, because Albus stopped smiling and was squinting at her instead.

"You alright?"

Before she said anything, she had to know if she was really going crazy, if somehow she'd contracted a disease and she was turning into Gran. She'd test it and see. A simple hug - they'd done it a million times before - today, even. He was her friend.

Wren stood up and went to him, wrapping her arms around him and waiting a beat to see if the strangeness would come back. She felt the familiar nervous zing, but that was all. No panic, no strange visions. Wren was elated that nothing happened. It was just a one-off. She wasn't going insane.

She eased out of the hug and nodded up at him, letting the flutters bounce around, just for a second longer, before she forced herself to be sensible again and stepped back to put space between them. "I'm alright," she said.

Suddenly, the imaginary drama didn't seem worth it. She wanted to spend her birthday with Albus. And Rose and Callie and James, and even Scorpius, since it looked like he had chosen to behave (for now).

"Really," Wren said, feeling more confident. Now that she'd said it once, she could say it all day if she had to.

"I'm fine."

.

.

.

"Freakishly tall. We get to call you that now, right?" Rose said with sass, bumping Albus out of the way as they all gathered around the cold cases of ice cream at Fortescue's Parlor.

Before Albus could ask if the featured flavor was really Dragon-puss green, or if it was a trick of the faulty lighting, James elbowed him aside. "Since we're all here, the birthday girl needs ice cream first. Aunt Hermione made that a law last year, right Rose?"

"Not yet, but I'll owl her straight away," Rose said offhandedly.

Scorpius motioned Albus over behind James and gave him a knowing nod. Albus shook his head. "Not here," he murmured, and tilted his head at Wren.

James swung his arm around Wren's shoulder and led her up to the counter like a little sister. "Choose your flavor," he told her.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing that?" Scorpius ribbed Albus. Albus gave his friend an annoyed look. "Oh," Scorpius said. "Not there yet."

"Not even close." That hug inside the shop had gotten to him, but immediately afterward, she'd backed off. It left him puzzled about his next move.

He'd never had to ask a girl out before. His first girlfriend had practically thrown herself at him, and he hadn't even really liked her. It had taken him two weeks to break it off, only because he'd enjoyed himself too much the first week, and then he'd spent the next seven days trying to figure out how to let her down without hurting her feelings. (And before Scorpius could tell her that she needed to take her fake nails and suffocating perfume and sod off already.)

After her, there were a few others, not many, or at least not many that he remembered. They'd all been nice (sort of) and interesting(sometimes) but eventually someone (usually Albus) got bored and they drifted away after not too long.

Wren had thankfully remained neutral about the whole ordeal, but he could tell that she hadn't liked any of his girlfriends much. When Albus thought about it, maybe he hadn't liked them much either. After undesirable girlfriend number three, he'd realized that if a girl seemed wrong from the start, he could just say no up front and save himself loads of trouble.

Wren passed by with a bowl full of blue on top of blue and Rose laughed at her. "That's going to turn your mouth blue for days," she said.

"I know," Wren said, the blue already seeping into her tongue from the first bite. Albus watched her relax in the company of friends, glad that the awkwardness had faded away. That was what he liked the most about her. She didn't hold grudges and never overreacted to the little things, like most girls did.

"She's not the one who wants to impress the Ravenclaws when we get back to school," Callie piped up from the front of the line.

"What about the Ravenclaws?" Scorpius voiced over the crowd. "Why is it always about the Ravenclaws? What's wrong with Slytherins?"

"Nothing's wrong with us, except you," Albus jabbed.

"Gryffindors are a bunch of big fakers, that's what they are," Scorpius said as James tried to sweet-talk the server into a free round of fizzy drinks. "Except Wren. Remember Care of Magical Creatures last fall? She owned that skrewt!"

Rose turned around to give Scorpius one of her signature glares, and Scorpius met her gaze with his own. "They're just slow to acknowledge our brilliance is all," he said, punctuating his superiority by sticking his tongue out.

To most people, Scorpius appeared like an upper-crust snob. But when Rose was around, he quickly devolved into an immature prat. To her discredit, Rose didn't handle herself any better. Albus wondered why the two of them bothered spending their free time in the same room together. He figured that it was probably somehow his fault.

Albus sat down with Scorpius at a table across from Wren's and watched her friends chatting animatedly around her. Scorpius wavered between picking lint off his leather jacket and stealing glances at Albus' cousin. At least Albus and Wren were friends, or he'd thought so this morning. She'd always been the most level-headed girl he'd ever known. He'd almost gone mental when Ian Sloan asked her out, and then really did go a bit mad when she accepted. Wren had never criticized any of Albus' dates (to his face) so even though Sloan was a gobby arse, he'd done nothing about it, other than pull Gina (Gillian? Geranium? He'd lost track) off his arm and stew in his room.

It had taken the better part of a week for him to sort out what it all meant, but once he did, he'd never figured out how to put it into words. What was he supposed to say to a girl he'd known almost as long as his sister? That he _liked_ her? Fancied her? He'd come off sounding like an idiot.

Scorpius had taken up an irritating habit of counting all of his missed chances. When Wren broke up with Sloan after only a week ( the longest week that Albus could remember), he ribbed Albus daily for almost a month. Albus had waited for Wren to come to him, expecting her to be broken up about the split, ready to offer comfort that only a guy who'd known her for years and years could offer. But she'd walked into the Great Hall the day after the break up, completely unbroken. She'd even looked relieved about putting the entire ordeal behind her.

What scared him the most was if he got what he finally wanted, and then messed it up somehow - she could do the same thing to him. Too many scenarios had played out in his dreams, both good and bad. If she felt the same way, it would be the best thing that had ever happened to him. And if not, it'd be the worst screw up of his life.

Wren bit into her ice cream and looked only half-interested in the talk around her. The old Wren would never have run out of film and would be snapping pictures of everything right about now. She'd have asked him to hold her ice cream at a funny angle, or taken everyone's cherries to arrange on a napkin or something like that.

She obviously had something on her mind, except she wasn't talking about it. And he was quite afraid to ask what it was.

After the ice cream was finished, the group set back out onto the street and Wren lagged behind. Albus slowed to walk with her, flinching as James waved his wand around ahead of them.

"I wish he'd put that thing away," he muttered.

Wren looked over at him. "Why? Did he set the house on fire over the summer?"

Before he could mention anything about James and his unrelenting pranks, the seamstress flew out of Madame Malkin's with an armful of packages.

"Yoohoo!" she called, bobbing her head to get his attention. Albus had no choice but to stop in the middle of the street and collect the packages from the woman. When his arms were full, he started passing them to Wren, who was equally puzzled.

The seamstress gave him the last package with a sly smile and eyed his brother with an appraising glint. Albus didn't like the way she eyed him up and down at the shop, and he was even more uncomfortable with her open stares in the middle of the street. If his mother hadn't made the appointment, he wouldn't have gone at all, no matter how short his pants were getting.

What was wrong with wearing his old clothes a little longer? At this rate, he might get taller than his brother by Christmas, and then he'd have to do this all over again.

Thankfully, the woman took out her wand and shrank the parcels to a more manageable size so that Wren and Albus could stuff the tiny boxes into their pockets. When she left to go back inside the shop, Wren was smirking at him.

"That lady liked you, I think," she said.

He looked over at his friend in her faded jeans and her plain t-shirt and half of his school wardrobe in her pockets. Wren made Albus feel normal. He felt like he could tell her anything and she wouldn't laugh at him or tell him he was bonkers. He'd spent a lot of the summer with Scorpius, planning and scheming for the new year, but it wasn't the same not seeing Wren for so long. The truth was, he'd missed her. He hadn't known how much until he saw her this morning. He shifted his gaze to the group ahead of them, judging that they were well out of earshot. Well, this was as good a time as any.

"She probably thinks we're dating," he said, testing the waters. He thought he saw a small smile begin on her face, but she had her head turned away from him. Albus swore his heart picked up a few beats, or maybe skipped a few, he wasn't sure.

"Huh," she said. "That's funny."

Albus' hopes sank into the gutter. No, it's not funny, Albus thought. He hunched his shoulders and pulled into himself, trying not to follow that with any more thoughts.

Maybe it was just bad timing. He'd narrowly escaped one of his brother's pranks, and nearly gotten pinned in his sensitive areas. And who goes to a pants fitting in the middle of a birthday party? Blame his mother and her overzealous insistence to schedule things "conveniently".

Mum would be so proud, he thought sarcastically. He'd just conveniently botched his first attempt at asking Wren out.

They'd almost caught up to their friends by then, who had stopped in front of the window display in front of the Quidditch Shop. "Look at these! They're the new set that Madame Hooch said she wanted for the pitch this year." As James' wand arm came around, Albus involuntarily flinched.

He pretended not to see Wren's questioning look. It wasn't the best time to bring up the constant hexing he'd been getting ever since James' birthday, not when his brother was close enough to listen in. Albus had only shared that last bit with Scorpius, and that was because Scorpius had been at the house with him and watched it happen. Or rather, the effects of it. James' magic was so skilled that no one could see it coming, which was why Albus had loaded his pockets with charm-repelling items.

James led the group across the street like a tour guide on a power trip. Albus winced as the trash bin they passed levitated an inch off the ground. A sudden gust of wind took the hat off an unsuspecting stranger a few yards away. James had always said that his last year at Hogwarts would be filled with the greatest pranks ever, but Albus hadn't appreciated being the practice target all summer. Just because it was legal didn't make it right.

Albus and Scorpius had been planning James' final year as well. There was no way his brother was getting away with a summer of unreturned pranks, just because he could use his wand out of school and Albus couldn't. His brother was being a pain in his arse and the new term hadn't even started yet. Maybe his plans for Wren hadn't gone the way he'd imagined, but his plans for James were failsafe. As soon as they got back to Hogwarts, Albus had a whole summer's worth of payback waiting to be dealt out.

And Wren... something was going on with her, but she had chosen not to tell him about it. Whatever it was, he'd have to wait for another opportunity. He wasn't going to try asking her out again now, especially since they'd caught up to the group. Between Wren's strange behavior and James' pranks, there was too much weird in the air.


	5. Chapter 5: Distant Hearts

Chapter 5: Distant Hearts

After the group got back to the Leaky Cauldron, Wren's mother served everyone a piece of coconut pecan cake. Then Wren walked with Rose and Callie to the fireplace, where Rose handed her a bag full of fist-sized ribbons and bows.

"These are from all of us. I'd stay and watch you open them all up, but Mum will be annoyed if I'm home late," Rose told her. "Remember to act surprised!" she said over her shoulder and threw powder into the flames. She was gone in an instant.

"I'm next. Happy birthday, Wren. See you in a few days!" Callie called cheerily, and disappeared in the green flash after Rose.

Wren spent a few minutes curiously watching the boys; James had gone off to take down the ribbons and balloons, while Scorpius and Albus were huddled together at a table in serious discussion. Wren thought it might have something to do with the Quidditch gear they'd seen in the window that afternoon.

They looked like they'd be busy for a while, so she hoisted the small, dense bag of presents over her shoulder and made her way to the back stairs, passing her mother at the edge of the bar.

"Did you have a good day?"

"Yes I did, Mum. Thanks for making my favorite cake. I don't know how you found the time!"

Wren's mum stopped wiping the bar. "I'm sorry, Wren. I wish things weren't so... well, the way they are now," she finished and sighed. "It's not how I pictured your sixteenth birthday."

"I know," Wren said. They'd all been either preoccupied with Gran or busy with the Inn. Even her dad had taken a few shifts behind the counter that summer to help out.

Before she was able to say anything about feeling guilty for taking the entire day off, her mother gave her a quick hug. "It's good to see you smiling, Wren. You haven't taken any time for yourself the whole summer."

Wren's worries eased up. "Don't worry, Mum. I'll help out later."

Still, in the back of her mind, she wished she hadn't avoided Albus and everyone else for so long.

Her mum gave her a tired smile and continued to polish the counter with long, purposeful strokes. Wren smiled back and went up the stairs to put her presents in her room.

"Don't forget to say goodbye to your guests!" her mum called.

"I'll only be a moment," Wren called back. Once they were all back at school, Wren would make it up to her friends and find time to reconnect. She was eager to have things back the way they were. Maybe her parents would sell the bungalow and have enough money for extra help.

Maybe Gran would get better and they wouldn't have to sell the bungalow.

Wren passed her dad, reading in the living room, and barely heard Gran's soft snores coming out of her bedroom. She went straight to her room and closed the door, dropping the bag of presents on her bed, momentarily forgotten because of the soft white bundle in the middle of her pillow. Wren scooped him up and flipped open the hutch door. Even with the latch undone, she couldn't imagine how he'd gotten out by himself.

"There you are, little bunny," she said sweetly, putting it down in the soft hay. She spent long minutes staring at it, and then remembered the presents.

It's my birthday after all, she thought to herself.

Wren opened the first small roll, a canister of film. She popped it into her camera, discarding the ribbons on the floor. She opened another small package, another canister, and then another. All the small rolls in the bag were the same shape and size and Wren had to laugh, figuring that her friends had gotten her enough film to last the whole year.

She dug around to find something else, and remembered Albus' present, still lying on the bed. Under the leaf-shaped tag, he'd attached a card with her name on it in his signature scrawl. "Look Bunny, he made me a card." Wren grinned and held it up to the sleeping little fur ball.

It was a cartoon they'd drawn together in Divination. An ink version of Roderick the Thestral, his moon pie eyes staring at her, and a word bubble above his head, wishing her "many happy returns". She laughed, remembering how many prophecies they'd made up, and had Roderick act out on parchment when the teacher wasn't looking.

When she unwrapped the package, she let out a little squeal of joy, and then covered her mouth with her hands and looked towards her door. It was still closed. Wren let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't disturbed Gran and focused back on the box in her lap.

Wren opened it and pulled out a heavy metal cylinder. She sucked in an excited breath.

"Oh, wow!"

Wren grabbed her camera and pressed the lens on. It snapped together perfectly. She eagerly looked through it, noting all the latest zoom features.

Albus hadn't forgotten. He must have written down the model number from the Photo Magic Magazine ad that she'd practically drooled over last spring. When had she seen it last? Months and months ago, at least. Wren suddenly felt guilty for being inside her head for so long.

She focused the lens on her little bunny stirring in the hay. It opened its little beady eyes and a new sensation washed over her.

Bunny needed her. Bunny needed her right now. Right now, there was a little bunny that needed her more than anything. With Bunny around, Wren's whole world had suddenly come into focus.

Wren blinked, confused. She pulled away from the camera. "I have to go and thank him," she said aloud, and glanced back at the little rabbit. "I'll be back later." She felt a slight tug from behind her eyes and winced. It felt a lot like the headache from this morning. "Not now," she muttered and ran back down the stairs to find Albus.

When Wren got back down to the tavern, she saw Albus and Scorpius by the Floo and couldn't resist. "How good is this thing, really?" she wondered, pointing the new lens at the boys across the room.

Scorpius' sharp features came into focus as he laughed at something Albus said. She dialed the lens more and almost bet that she could count the blonde strands on his head.

"Amazing," she breathed. The camera lens was definitely living up to its claims.

She dialed back and caught Albus in the viewfinder. The new pants definitely fit him properly. The bottom cuffs hung neatly pressed and brushed up against the top of his trainers.

She followed his feet into the fireplace and got a few spectacular shots of the glowing embers in the hearth that flared spitfire orange as they got shuffled about. Wren clicked through different settings as she scanned back up to Albus' face through her camera. The clarity from this far away was incredible. His eyes were searching for something, sparkling like the embers at his feet. His hair fell forward and he blew it out of his face. He started to turn, but then stopped and squinted. He was looking at her.

Wren pulled away from the camera, her face reddening at being caught staring, even if it was through her camera. Albus gave her a strange look from across the tavern.

"Umm... thanks for the present, Albus!" Wren called out, trying to recover. "It's fantastic!"

Albus seemed to turn a little red himself. "You're welcome," he called back. "I'm glad you like it!" He hesitated, looking like he had something more to say, but after a long pause, he simply smiled and waved. Then he tossed the powder up and was gone in a flash of green.

She dropped the camera to hang from its strap as the green flames faded back to orange. She hadn't been gone that long, had she? Was he mad? Didn't he want to say goodbye to her?

"Why did he look at me like that?"

"Probably the same reason you're stalking him with that camera." Wren jumped as James chuckled behind her.

She turned to James, annoyed at the personal intrusion. "Just because he's got nice fitting pants and needs a haircut doesn't mean that I was staring." She had been staring, which was the reason that she was so jumpy all of a sudden. Wren felt herself turning a deeper red, but she stood her ground.

James' eyes sparkled. "I'll tell him you like his pants so much," he said, crossing the room as he adjusted a strange squirming bundle under his cloak. "Do you think that Albus is the furry type? I just got him a surprise from this little boy outside with a basket full of free pets." Then he tossed his powder and leapt into the flames.

Wren really hoped that James wasn't going to mention the bit about the pants to his brother. She'd had enough awkward moments today and just wanted things to be normal again.

With James gone, the tavern was suddenly quiet. Wren looked through her camera again, focusing her lens on an oddly balanced fork sculpture left behind on a plate.

She thought she heard her name coming from the stairs. "Mum?"

Her mum came out of the kitchen, carrying a large tray of frothy glasses and set them down on top of the bar. "Wren? Did you call me?"

"I thought I heard you calling me from upstairs." Wren rubbed at the tension building in her head. "Never mind."

"Maybe you should lie down a while," her mum said, frowning**. ** She grabbed another tray from under the bar and whisked her wand. A new set of chilled glasses appeared, ready to be filled from the tap. "You look tired."

Wren's mum looked tired too. She needed Wren's help. "I'll be fine. Is there some Pepperup upstairs?"

At her mother's nod, Wren made her way back up the stairs. She felt that tug again, and this time, it was stronger than before. Her head was starting to ache. When she reached her room, she went straight to the bath and retrieved a small vial of Pepperup Potion.

She sat down on her bed as the headache pounded, forceful and strong. It was strange that it had come on so fast. Wren couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. She set the vial on the dresser and tried to breathe through the pain, afraid that she'd drop the potion if she tried to unstopper it. Minutes ticked by - she could hear the clock in the kitchen - Gran's snores - her father turning pages in the other room, sheaf rubbing against sheaf.

The rustle from the cage brought Wren back to her own room. Bunny stared at her with alert eyes. Wren dropped on her knees next to the rabbit hutch and lifted Bunny out of his cage.

The ache in her head dulled to a soft buzz as she cuddled her furry friend. Wren could hear the dull buzz from downstairs too, as the evening crowd came in. She heard her father's footsteps down the hall, checking on a sleeping Gran and then hurrying out the door to help her mum.

Wren didn't move. All her worries, her anxious, over-worked mum, her half-dazed Gran, the strange feeling she got being around a taller-more appealing Albus - it all faded away, replaced by soft, white fur and a feeling of being needed by a helpless little creature.

Nothing hurt anymore. In fact, Wren felt nothing at all. Soon, she was snuggling under her covers with the little bunny, who had taken to suckling on one of her fingers. It burrowed further under the covers with her and Wren drifted, content with the little furry animal in her arms. She felt like she could sleep all night without a care in the world.

* * *

In the shadows across the street from the Leaky Cauldron Inn, Dillon gazed up at the many flickering lights set in rows that loomed high above him. One of those windows was Wren's, and even though the magic made it impossible for him to see which one it was, he could feel where his rabbit was, and he knew that she was with him.

Dillon reached into the basket, brushing the soft bundles of sleeping bunnies aside and got out his mother's journal, old and worn. The pages were brittle with age, filled with her elegant script and carefully-sketched diagrams of the places they'd traveled to for as long as he could remember. He folded the map that Wren had given him and placed it inside the front cover.

As he gazed back up to the windows of the Inn, a small pang of loneliness touched him, muffled by a brush of soft fur. He narrowed his eyes until he found it, the connection to his rabbit, and nodded as he felt the little bunny snuggle closer to Wren's mind.

He smiled. The bond was working. He knew exactly how Wren was feeling. Dillon had lost someone too. "Take care of my new friend," he whispered, and felt the little bunny respond.

He would see Wren again soon, the rabbit too.

Dillon picked up his basket and lugged it with him to the courtyard behind the Inn, happily humming to himself. He set the basket down and counted the bricks like Wren had done. One tap opened the wall to an archway, and once again, Dillon lugged his basket out into the London streets.

There was a little coffee house on the corner where the waitress loved his rabbits and would give him all the day-old beef pasties he could eat. She'd been nice to him before, the waitress with the wide-eyed smile. Young too, and eager to help. He wondered if he told her it was his birthday, would she buy him a new traveling hat? Did the students at the wizarding school wear hats? Dillon had forgotten to ask, but it didn't worry him. He'd find out soon enough, once he got to where he was going. The whole idea put a big smile on his face: he didn't have to be alone any more.

"Once we get to Hogwarts," he said to his basket of baby rabbits, "we're going to have all the friends we want."


	6. Chapter 6: Big As Hearts

Chapter 6: Big as Hearts

"Malfoy!"

Scorpius half jumped out of his skin and grabbed the latch of the rattling compartment in front of him to keep from toppling over. He stuffed the Saunders' Invisible Silk back into his pocket with his free hand, making a mental note to set it up later... preferably when no one was rushing up from behind and shouting out his name. He turned around, all innocent smiles, to see an out of breath James Potter coming from the train compartment ahead with a squirming sack in his hands.

"Have you seen my brother?" James Potter asked breathlessly. With the way he kept jerking his head over his shoulder, he looked like he'd been running away from something.

"Hmm, let's see," Scorpius pondered, loving the way that James squirmed with impatience. "Looks like a Potter, dark hair and light eyes?" Even though they were separated by houses in school, he admired James for his tenacity and his inclination to push the boundaries of polite society. Always one to return the sentiment, Scorpius raised his hand above James' head. "Tall, like this?"

"Ha. Hardly." James' arms squeezed tighter as the sack lurched, this time having nothing to do with the movement of the train. The carriage connector opened behind him and he craned his neck to see who was coming. "Gotta run. Could you get this to Albus for me?" James shoved the sack at Scorpius' free arm. "Tell him it's a sixth year gift!"

He scampered into the next train carriage as Ford Chatham, followed by a small band of prefects stepped into the corridor from the other end. His badge flashed as the train passed a low copse of trees, letting the harsh mid-day sun through the windows. Scorpius tried to act casual in front of the new Head Boy, feeling suddenly crowded by all the official, law-abiding students surrounding him. He pretended as hard as he could that he wasn't holding a potentially incriminating sack and that his pockets weren't full of pranking supplies.

"Where'd he go?" Ford peered into the nearest compartment window. Six sets of innocent second year eyes stared back at him with gaping mouths.

Scorpius tried to blend in with the paneling. "Who do you mean?"

"The bloke running round setting off dung bombs. Did you see him?"

"Oh him," Scorpius waved it off. "Yeah. Next carriage. What a twat!"

Ford eyed the sack in Scorpius' hand. "What's that you have there?"

"This? Not a sack of dung bombs." The sack jerked in his hands. "See?"

Ford and his prefects nodded and headed off into the next carriage. Scorpius sank to the floor, relieved that he hadn't been searched by association. Chatham wasn't a bad chap, for a Gryffindor. Scorpius wondered if James was going to pull off anything without getting caught this year. Albus' big brother wasn't going to have an easy year of it with the Head Boy as both his roommate and best friend. He chuckled to himself. The whole situation took the phrase "sleeping with the enemy" to a whole new level.

When the passageway was clear, Scorpius looked inside the sack and found a large, fat rabbit staring back at him. He grabbed it by the scruff of its neck (something he'd seen Wren do once or twice to angry Kneazles) and pulled it out. "What is this?"

The animal peered at him from heavy lids with its beady eyes. Then it bared its teeth and he swore he heard it growl.

"Someone piss in your pie?" he asked it. "I suppose you've got every reason to be barmy, what with being thrown into a sack." He roused to his feet, still scruffing the rabbit by the neck. "Come on, then. Let's go find your new daddy."

The rabbit twisted to nip at Scorpius' hand. "Bloody beast!" he yelled and flung the rabbit away. Its fat belly slapped onto the ground, but it spun around fast and lunged forward. Scorpius danced around it, dodging its attempts to attack him and resisting the urge to kick it in the head.

When it made another move for his ankles, he drew his wand and fired off a Stunning Spell. He hit it square between the ears, but before he could check to see if any prefects had heard the commotion, the animal shook it off and lunged again.

"You're supposed to be stunned, you stupid..." Scorpius barely dodged out of the way in time, and in a heated moment of quick thinking, tore off his boot and pitched it hard at the little beast's head. It instantly collapsed on the floor.

Scorpius checked both corridor doors and the windows of the train compartments, waiting a beat. When he was sure no one had seen him stun the animal, he picked up his boot.

"Blimey! I'm never going to keep a shine on these things!" He made a feeble attempt to polish up the fresh scuff with his sleeve. Then he gave up, slipped the boot back on and hoisted the limp rabbit under his arm.

Scorpius found Albus two carriages down, feasting at the snack trolley. He tipped an invisible hat at the Trolley Witch and flashed her a smile. "Should have known you'd be stuffing your face here, Al."

"What is that thing?" Albus asked, unwrapping his third pumpkin tart. Scorpius had conveniently counted the wrappers littering the floor. He'd definitely rib his friend about all the eating later, after he got this half-crazed, seemingly hex-resistant creature off his hands.

He shrugged. "Sixth year gift from James." He held the grey lump out to his best mate.

Albus swallowed and gave the trolley witch a handful of sickles for several bottles of pumpkin juice. "I can't take it now, Scorp. I have prefect rounds." He tucked some bottles into his robe, twisted off the cap and downed half a bottle in a few gulps. "Besides, what am I going to do with a rabbit?"

"Oi! You're on snack break! This is the perfect opportunity to fix what you bodged up last time," Scorpius said, thinking back to Albus' half-cocked attempt to woo his best girl. "Take it into Wren's train compartment and start up a conversation. Girls like furry animals."

Albus eyed the animal warily. "It looks dead."

"Nah," Scorpius told him. "It's sleeping off the trip." He patted the drooling rabbit's head and then made to hand it over again.

Albus backed up several paces. "I'm on rounds," he said tiredly. "I'll see you later."

Scorpius stopped patting the head and tried to wipe the drool off his sleeve. "What am I supposed to do with this thing until then?"

"Do whatever you're supposed to do with rabbits." Albus paid the trolley witch again and shrugged, stuffing two more tarts into his robe.

Scorpius thought hard as he watched Albus' retreating back. Then he grinned, arranged the stunned rabbit in his arms and headed three carriages back where he had last seen Wren and Callie, telling exaggerated stories about the resident poltergeist to a group of first year girls. She was good with animals, he surmised. She'd know what to do.

When he slid the door open and stepped inside the compartment, Wren had her camera out with the new lens attached and was snapping pictures of a cuter, much smaller rabbit in her lap. A cluster of open mouthed eleven year old girls around her whipped their heads around to stare at him. One of them giggled.

"Oh, you've already got one," he said before Wren could comment on the comatose creature under his arm.

What now whatnowwhatnow, he thought quickly. Then Scorpius got an even better idea.

"Where's Rose? I've got something to show her."

* * *

After the opening feast, Wren carried her little rabbit gently up to her room. She felt a familiar pang of disappointment when the younger girls on the train had told her their own stories about not being allowed any pets their first year. Wren shared with them her own story of how Gran had half-heartedly told her that she could pick out a toad from under the porch, if she'd really wanted to take a pet with her to Hogwarts. But Wren had wanted something soft and cuddly, not a warty toad. She gazed down at the small animal in her arms as the moving staircase took her up to the Gryffindor Tower. Just like this one, she thought, smiling.

When it wasn't being cuddled in someone's lap, the little rabbit had mostly slept through the train ride in a small satchel that hung around Wren's neck. She'd even snuck him into the Great Hall for the opening feast. That was when the bunny had woken up from all the commotion, all nervous and twitchy. Wren's stomach fluttered every time a new course appeared in front of them, or as the jugs floated by and filled their goblets. For the first time in years, Wren jumped at the appearance of Peeves the poltergeist, feeling the bunny tremble against her at every sound. Wren thought he'd leap out of her arms on the first moving staircase, but with some reassuring words, she'd gotten him to calm down.

"We're almost there," she whispered, climbing the extra flight of stairs to her new dorm room.

As she pulled open the door, she was hit with a swath of Gryffindor colors. The walls, papered with vintage floral patterns from the floor to the ceiling, made the whole room glow in red and gold overtones. Rose was busy at her side of the room, swishing her wand back and forth in front of her bookcase. "Alphabetical by author or subject?" she pondered, then swished her wand again as her books rearranged themselves on the shelf.

A dark mop of hair hovered at the ceiling above one of the beds, balanced on her broom with large paper rolls under one arm and a roll of spell-o-tape under the other. It looked like she was hanging every poster that the Kenmare Kestrals had ever produced in the same spot. "Oh, hi Wren," Trudy called from the ceiling. "Sorry I missed your party," she said, not really sounding too apologetic.

Wren hadn't expected Trudy to say anything about her birthday. As first years, they'd all thought Trudy didn't like them, but after a while, they realized that she just liked to keep to herself. Trudy swore to herself as the edge of the poster slipped. "A little help here?" she called down to them.

Wren smiled as Rose cast a sticking charm to the wall above Trudy's head. They'd stopped holding her antisocial ways against her a long time ago. She was just Trudy, and they tried to include her when they could (and when she was willing). Mostly, they just left her to her Quidditch obsession and tried not to get in her way too much.

Callie's bed was still empty, except for her school trunk. Albus had mentioned a prefect's meeting when he'd stopped by her train compartment to say hello (and she'd said "hi" back while her stomach fluttered, even though she'd sternly told it not to). Her roommate was probably at that meeting too, Wren reasoned.

In Wren's corner (which wasn't really a corner, since the tower rooms were circular in shape), she found the usual note from her dad wishing her good luck in the new year, and a curious book on her night table, titled "Seven Stages of..." Wren brushed the book off the table and let it tumble into her open trunk before her roommates noticed. Then she gasped with delight at the lovely, well-furnished rabbit hutch next to her bed. She lifted the bunny out of her satchel. "Look! It's all for you!"

Rose flicked her wand at the posters. Bunny stared wide-eyed and quivered, which made Wren nervous for him. "It's alright, I'll hold you a little longer," she said to him.

"You can see the Quidditch pitch from the window! This is awesome!" Trudy exclaimed, still holding her broom. Wren went to peer out Trudy's window next to hers. They all had windows in the tower, but this year, the view was even better. Wren's eyes drifted from the pitch to the mountains on the horizon. She shuffled the rabbit in her arms and unsnapped her camera from its case to shoot a few pictures of the landscape.

"That's a new lens." Rose said from across the room, after Trudy's posters got sorted.

Wren looked down at her new lens. "It was for my birthday," she said, smiling and remembering. She hadn't mentioned to anyone that Albus had given it to her. Suddenly, she wondered if that was something she should tell them.

"It'll be perfect for this year," Trudy nodded eagerly.

"Perfect for what?" Wren wondered at Trudy's sudden enthusiasm.

"You didn't tell her?" Trudy shot at Rose.

"Tell me what?" Wren asked again. Obviously, she wasn't the only one who hadn't mentioned things.

"I might have talked to some people on the train about getting their pictures taken this year," Rose said. "And I might have told them that you'd do it for them."

"Rose!"

"And I might have also told them that your rates are less expensive than the photographer they used last year," she hurried on.

"And you're better, too," Trudy added.

Wren stared in shock at her two roommates. "I'm not a professional photographer!"

"But you could be!" Rose protested. "We all saw your photographs last year and they were much better than anything that hack gave the Quidditch team."

Wren had to agree. Last year's Quidditch pictures from the "professional photographer" were horrid. Even with her old lens, she'd taken some much better pictures from the stands. Ford's little sister had paid twenty sickles for a copy of the frame where Wren had captured James' goal from the last match of the season. The fourth year fan girl was probably spell-o-taping it above her bed at that very moment.

Bunny quivered next to her, and Wren remembered the dropped conversation. "But you didn't even ask me about it first?"

"It's only a trial run, and if they like what they see, you're hired. Wouldn't that be great? You'd be getting money for your hobby!" Rose let the rest of it come out in a rush.

"And we'd get better pictures," Trudy murmured from the other side of the room as she straightened the bottom of her poster collection. "The last ones looked like the photographer forgot to watch the game."

Wren's eyes trailed over the shiny new lens in her hand. While her rabbit was sleeping, she'd spent most of the train ride figuring out all the new switches and dials it had come with and flipping through the instruction booklet. The wicked zoom feature would take great close-ups of a moving broom, and the instructions had hinted at a spell that would capture up to ten seconds longer action than normal magical photographs.

"I'm not promising anything," Wren warned, but Rose was already vaulting across the room in celebration. Sometimes Rose's enthusiasm was infectious. Right now, it was just plain irritating.

"Hi all!" Callie said, coming into the room at last, causing Rose to run over and give her a hug, which thankfully dropped the photography discussion. She went over to where her trunk had been propped and hung her robe neatly on a peg near her bed. Then she flipped open her trunk and swished her wand at the closet door which opened on command.

Bunny shifted nervously in the satchel as Wren reset the lens and took a few experimental pictures of her surroundings. Rose's trunk. Trudy's broom. Callie's clothes floating out of her trunk and marching towards the closet door by themselves. Wren lowered her camera and stared.

"I am so glad to be back!" Callie exclaimed, swishing her wand again to fetch more hangers. "I thought I'd die from magic withdrawal over the summer!"

"It's much easier to organize books," Rose agreed.

"And hang posters," Trudy murmured under her Quidditch shirt. She pulled it over her head. "Wait a minute. What is that thing?" She eyed the rabbit in Wren's arms. "We've got a smelly rodent in our room now? Oh, that's just great." She rolled her eyes and shoved her trainers over her yellow and green stripped knee highs.

Wren felt the little bunny flinch again as Rose pointed her wand at her bed, making all of her shoes jump in a line beneath the footboard. Then she pointed to the dresser, and then her trunk again, causing all of her neatly folded clothes to fly inside the drawers in perfect piles. Each time Rose used her wand, the bunny flinched. Wren's head began to throb. All the while, Callie was unpacking too, all with magic, and Trudy had charmed a small chart to execute Quidditch moves that she was staring intently at. Bunny was shaking so much that Wren had started to shake too.

"Stop!" Wren cried out as Bunny trembled like a leaf against her. "Can't you see he's terrified?"

Her roommates all stared at her. "Of what?" Callie asked.

Wren clutched Bunny to her and heard his heartbeat thudding like an over wound watch inside her head. "All of this!"

"Wren, are you feeling alright?" Rose asked her. "If you're mad about the Quidditch team pictures, I can go and talk to them and tell them to find someone else."

Wren looked wildly around the room to each of her roommates with concern on their faces. If she hadn't been holding her rabbit, she would have been doing the same thing as them, using her wand to unpack as quickly as possible and get it out of the way. She felt foolish and stroked the rabbit to calm herself. He seemed to settle down a bit.

"Sorry. I guess I'm just tired. And I'll think about the pictures, Rose. Just not right now." She went and placed Bunny in his hutch and sat down on her bed.

"Yeah, we'll talk later," Rose said, finishing up with her trunk. "When you're not losing your mind. I think there's a welcome party down in the common room. Anyone coming?"

"I told the team I'd meet them out by the pitch after dinner." Trudy said, slamming her trunk shut. She checked her watch. "There's a pick up game in ten minutes."

"Quidditch already? We've only just gotten back from the opening feast. Don't you want to unpack and relax?" Callie asked her. "Tryouts aren't for weeks."

"It's Thursday night, we've got two hours until curfew and no classes for three days." Trudy grabbed her broom and marched to the door. "See you all later." She gave Wren a concerned glance as she headed out.

The frantic, panicky feeling had faded as Wren sat on her bed staring at the floor. She hadn't had anything happen like that since... her party?

"Wren, are you coming?" Rose tossed her braid over her shoulder and swept by.

"Sure," Wren replied wearily. "In a minute or two." Maybe she needed a break from holding her rabbit all day. She glanced down at the little bunny who had instantly curled up in the hay and fallen asleep again.

Callie waited for the door to close. "She thought you'd be happy about the photography job," Callie told her.

"I am," Wren said, unsure of why the thought had made her uneasy in the first place. She loved taking pictures. "Or I will be." Still, those kinds of pictures were a big responsibility. The team would expect her to come up with something brilliant.

Photography had always been something she'd done because she'd loved it, and she wasn't sure how she would do under any kind of pressure. "I wish she'd talked to me first. But doing pictures for the Gryffindor team sounds like fun." In spite of her misgivings, Wren's mind was already formulating possible shots to showcase their team spirit.

"Wren, you should probably know now." Callie turned to her in the doorway before they got out of the room. "Rose was talking about all four Quidditch teams."

Wren's stomach dropped as Callie looked over her shoulder and pointed back to Wren's bed.

"Wren, look over there. Why is your rabbit glowing?"

"Glowing?" Wren rushed back to the hutch, where the tiny creature had been sleeping. "He's gone!"

"How'd he get out of the hutch?" Callie asked from behind her.

"I don't know!" Wren lifted up the bed skirt and peered under her bed into the darkness. She wished she'd had her wand out already. "Where could he have gone? He was just here a second ago. He couldn't have gone far." Even with the logical reassurance, Wren's breath grew shallow as her eyes darted around the lower section of the room, looking for any sign of white fur. She'd only had the poor creature for a few days, and she'd only put him down for a few minutes. He couldn't be gone! Wren felt like the worst caretaker in the world.

"Go on without me, Callie. I need to find my rabbit!"

* * *

Up above the streets of Diagon Alley, Hannah Longbottom hurried to put the kettle on as Augusta's quiet wails drifted through the family suite.

"What have I done?" the older woman murmured over and over weakly, rocking back and forth in her seat by the window.

Hannah tapped her wand to get the kettle instantly hot. Tea had a calming effect when Augusta got too worked up to think straight. Hannah had to admit though, that the ranting had gotten less over the last few days. In fact, she hadn't seen a floating pillow since yesterday. But she knew from experience that when the fits took over, Augusta would hit bottom all over again.

"I've got your tea coming." Hannah tossed the bag in the hot mug and balanced it on a saucer on her way to the window seat. If she hurried, she could sit a few minutes and get some dinner into Augusta before the evening shift began. Hannah hated to leave her alone for so many hours a day, but the Inn couldn't run itself.

Hannah had a fleeting thought about how her daughter had spent most of the summer talking to Gran when she thought no one else was listening. The Healers said it could take days or years, or maybe never, but it hadn't stopped Wren from spending as much time as she could showing off her photographs and describing the day's events in the tavern. The older woman always seemed calmer, more peaceful when Wren was around.

Her daughter always talked as if Augusta could understand her. Hannah decided that she should do the same.

Hannah wiped her hands on a dish towel and set the tea down next to her grandmother-in-law. She looked out at the darkening clouds and tried to think of something to say. "Neville says that the bungalow has had a few offers, but they were on the low side. We're hoping that something better will come along soon."

"Get rid of it."

The gravelly voice, weak from disuse, startled Hannah. She almost knocked her elbow into the tea, realizing that her grandmother-in-law had stopped rocking and had actually responded to her. "Augusta?"

"You're working too hard," Augusta croaked, still staring at the wall. "When the bungalow sells, the debts will be paid and you can hire all the help you need."

"You're right," Hannah said conversationally, trying to contain her excitement at the sudden topical outburst. It was the first time in months that her grandmother-in-law had said anything directly to anyone.

A million things flitted through Hannah's mind. Should she call the Healers to get her checked out? Did Augusta need more potion? Should she owl Neville? Would he want to come out and see his grandmother straight away, or would it be a bothersome distraction so early in the term? Hannah hesitated over what to do next. Too many questions might send her back into her mind.

"Tell Neville to stop dithering around and take the first offer," Augusta said, and sipped her tea.

No, Hannah decided, Augusta was fine for now. She went back to the kitchen to bring out a plate of dinner and sank into a chair next to the older woman.

"I wish it was that easy. After we bought the Leaky, I didn't expect Tom to retire straight away. I suppose he thought there was nothing left to show me." Hannah trailed off, thinking about their original plan to buy the Inn after Wren was finished with Hogwarts and they'd saved up enough money.

Instead, they'd had to take out a loan. With Tom gone, she had to prioritize the essential tasks to keep everything running. She felt about as tired as Gran looked, and that was on a good day.

"Anyway, I'm sure you were around when we discussed the broken water line and the basement that's overrun with doxies. Neville did a fine job of fixing up the gardens and the lawn at the bungalow, but he's hopelessly lost around the plumbing. If we get a good price for the place, the loan can be repaid and whatever's left will go to repairs and improvements."

Hannah stared intently at Augusta, who wasn't making eye contact, but was nodding passively at the conversation. After a while, the woman stopped moving her head and just stared into nothing, like she hadn't said a word the whole time.

"Augusta? Are you still here?"

Someone knocked with light, frantic raps at the door. Hannah stayed where she was, afraid that if she moved, Augusta would be lost to her again. They sat quietly next to each other as the rapid knocking got more urgent. Suddenly, the older woman blinked and set down her teacup.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, go and answer the door!" the old Gran grumbled, making Hannah smile.

"I'll be right back." Hannah hurried to the door and opened it, but her smile fell. "Nellie!" she gasped. "What's going on?"

"Mrs. Longbottom, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there are a lot of people downstairs."

"They're supposed to be downstairs. And you're supposed to be serving them." Nellie had offered to help with the weekend shift after Neville and Wren left for school, but it was becoming clear that she wasn't comfortable in the large evening crowds. Hannah glanced back at Augusta who was calmly picking at her dinner.

"I know, but there's a LOT of people. It started raining and then everyone just kept coming in and demanding things. I can't do it fast enough."

"Do what we always do," Hannah told her. "Serve them, one person at a time." Through the open door, she could hear the crowd building, getting more restless with no one to serve them.

"But..." Nellie's hand gripped the doorframe, the whites of her knuckles showing. "There's so many of them!"

Hannah looked back at Augusta's form sitting at the window. She ushered Nellie into the hall, feeling bad for the poor girl who looked like she was on the edge of a panic attack. "I'll be downstairs as soon as I can to help you. Tell everyone to be patient."

She closed the door and watched Augusta sip her tea in silence. They couldn't afford to lose customers, but her family had to come first. Hannah felt like she was split in two, trying to take care of Augusta and the Inn by herself, but at the moment, she didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Give it to me." Augusta had set her dinner plate aside. "Give me the potion, Hannah. I feel it coming on again and quite honestly, I'd like to sleep through it this time."

"Are you sure?" Hannah didn't want to do anything to make Augusta fall back into the trance she'd just come out of, but the older woman held out her teacup impatiently.

"I'm getting better, but it's not done with me yet. I can feel it."

Hannah stared at the old woman for just a moment. Then, she poured the potion into Augusta's half-empty teacup and watched her drink it down. Augusta hadn't been given enough credit. She knew what was happening.

Even through the closed door of the suite, the noise from below was growing. "I have to go downstairs, Augusta," she told the silver-haired lady by the window, wishing that she could stay and hold the woman's hand until she slipped back into sleep.

Augusta didn't reply, nodding slowly as her eyes drifted closed and the potion took hold. Hannah opened the door and went to face the clamor below.

The tavern was packed, and more people were streaming in to get out of the torrent of rain that pounded against the windows outside. An overwhelmed Nellie shuffled by with a tray of drinks on her shoulder. Every time she passed a rowdy cluster of patrons, she shied away from the tables as soon as the drinks were served. Hannah got bumped and tussled as she slipped behind the bar and assessed the state of the pub; the heavy rain was driving more and more people inside. She and Nellie together could get out a first round for everyone and worry about orders later

Her plan seemed workable for about two minutes, until Nellie came back and put her empty tray onto the bar, followed by her apron. "I'm sorry," she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I can't do this." She wrung her shaking hands together. "I'm going home."

Hannah nodded to the distressed girl and carried on. She placed the next set of mugs under the tap and watched Nellie escape the sea of wet robes and run out into the rain. The last thing the Innkeeper needed was her mild-mannered and very reliable breakfast server suddenly suffering from a panic attack in the middle of a crowd like this. The temperament of the room was growing worse, and Hannah sensed that even with Nellie's help, things were going to get out of hand very quickly. It was probably wise for the young woman to leave. Hannah wouldn't have allowed Wren down here for anything.

"Just a moment, lads." She ignored the boisterous posturing in front of her filling station and reached under the bar for a large bottle of Tom's secret ingredient.

In more than twenty years of working the crowds, she'd rarely seen the old Innkeeper use it, but on a night like tonight, Hannah decided to put Tom's special reserve bottle of Calming Draught to good use. She added a splash of the potion to the drinks on the tray and shoved it forward, staying clear of the tangled hands and elbows that reached out and emptied the tray in a flash.

The rain kept coming, and so did the people. Tom would have cast an extendable charm over the place by now, but Hannah couldn't catch a break to lift her wand. She quickly snatched the tray back and slid the next batch of mugs under the tap.

"I'm next." One of the loud men elbowed his way to the front of the crowd, so close that Hannah could smell his last drink on his breath.

"No, I am." A burly-bearded fellow in a tattered cloak blocked his way. Even the disgruntled crowd eased away from the bar.

Hannah reached into her robe for her wand. Tom had never Flooed the Ministry for assistance, but she would do it if she had to. On nights like this one, she dreaded not having any backup.

Just as the two men aimed their wands at each other, they suddenly rose straight up in the air by at least two feet. Hannah didn't waste another second and silently banished their wands to a jar above the door. She'd deal whoever cast the levitation magic in a moment.

"Gentlemen, you'll each get a drink when it's ready." She shoved two glasses at them (half watered, double dose of Calm). These were going to be their last drinks of the night if she had any say in the matter. "Now, who's levitating people in my bar?"

She leaned forward, expecting to banish another wand, when she noticed that both men's shirts were bunched under their chins and stretched up the backs of their heads.

A single fist gripped each collar, attached to a strong pair of arms that slowly lowered the two men back to the floor. A tall, lean figure stood behind them and shoved them towards the counter. The men looked up uneasily at him, and then quickly took their drinks to opposite sides of the tavern.

"Sorry for the use of force, but things looked like they were about to get out of control." The man shook storm water from his robe and threw some coins on the bar.

Hannah was half relieved that her unexpected assistant hadn't used magic, and half put out by losing control of her bar. If Tom had been here, he'd have given her an earful.

She ignored the coins and passed him a drink. "It's on the house for you," she said. "Thank you for your help."

The crowd had eased away from the bar when the trouble started and hadn't closed in again yet, so Hannah performed a quick extension charm, giving the patrons more elbow room and more seats. No one else stepped out of line with the tall stranger sitting close by, but it still took a solid hour of filling glasses until everyone was sated.

Now that she had time to breathe, Hannah took stock of things. Maybe it was the foul weather, or maybe it had been a rough day (she'd had plenty of those), but now that the men had finished their spiked drinks, they nodded agreeably at each other from across the room.

The tall man ordered another drink and she refused his coins again. She noticed his black clothes were cut more like a Muggle trench coat than a wizard's robe. "You're not from around here," she said, not really wanting to chat, but it was part of her job and he'd been more than helpful.

"Passing through." The man looked around at the relaxed patrons, full of beer and Calming Drought. "Looks like you need some help."

"I can't afford the right kind of help."

"You can afford me. I have a few weeks of business here, and I prefer the night shift. Room and board sound affordable enough?"

"Any experience running a tavern?" It was the first question that Tom had asked her. She hadn't had a clue, but she had a sharp determination that Tom liked, and she knew how to handle a wash rag and broom. The man's long, smart robe and the slender, well-manicured hands around his mug didn't seem to be in the business of wiping down bars.

"I'm fast and I know how to read a drink card." He looked at her with a shrewd, almost dark expression that made the patrons near him squirm. Hannah was torn between the comforting thought of a barman who would keep the nights quiet, and the possibility of his cold demeanor chasing off of all her regulars to Abbey's pub down the road.

Practically, she should do a security check on him through the Auror's Department. Reasonably, the Inn had a fantastic set of magical wards against vandalism and theft. Besides the register downstairs, the only thing she had to worry about was waking up in the morning to find her entire supply of meat pies gone.

The man saw her sizing him up and added, "I don't eat much. The name is Smeed."

With Neville gone until Christmas, at least she would feel safe with someone like him behind the bar. She'd have time for Augusta – and she was so tired of worrying all the time about tomorrow.

Hannah put aside her doubts. "Smeed." She thrust out her hand. "You're hired."


	7. Chapter 7: Heart To Handle

Chapter 7: Heart To Handle

Monday morning, Wren went straight to the Great Hall and waved down the Head of Gryffindor House, a thick, bald wizard with white tufts of hair sticking out of his ears, who was sorting through a large assortment of parchment at the end of the table.

"Longbottom," he greeted her, placing a half-sized sheaf of parchment into her outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Professor Ackerly." Wren gave her lesson schedule a quick glance, saw all of her requested classes and then tucked it into her bag, along with the ink, quills and new books for sixth year.

Wren breathed a happy sigh, eager to put her summer behind her and slip back into the rhythm of Hogwarts. Gran wasn't here, there were no dishes to be washed, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was allowed to forget about her family's troubles and let it all go.

And of course, there was Bunny.

"Wren, wait!" Callie called out. "What's your first class?"

"Advanced Charms. See you there!" Wren called back. She snatched a piece of toast and a handful of apple slices and hurried out of the Great Hall.

It took forever to climb all those stairs and finally get to her room. Wren knelt down in front of the rabbit hutch. "There you are," she said, placing the apple slices into the hay.

Her heart filled with a mixture of bewilderment and regret when his sleepy eyes opened to look up at her. She hadn't meant to wake him up. But then Wren's anxiety quickly changed to delight when his little pink nose twitched towards the apples.

Friday night had been one of the scariest moments of her life. Wren had looked everywhere after Bunny disappeared. The glow that Callie had mentioned brought back the terrifying memory of the light that had stolen her baby rabbit away that summer.

She was in a heap, crying when he'd hopped out from under Rose's bed and into her lap. Wren had cried even harder and snuggled him into the crook of her arm until she fell asleep.

Her dreams had been plagued by visions of Bunny falling down a bottomless hole into nothingness, and she'd woken in a heart-pounding panic, half tangled on top of her covers, only to find the little rabbit curled up on her pillow. After she calmed down, Wren had spent most of the weekend sorting her clothes and stacking her books and camera equipment by hand, afraid that Bunny would freak out and disappear again, or worse, that something would try and take him from her.

She'd already lost Gran. She couldn't bear to lose anyone else.

The first bell chimed, pulling Wren out of her head. She mentally ticked off the things she needed for her first class: book, parchment, quills...

Her wand! Wren gasped and dug around in her trunk for it. She found it at the bottom, under some used film canisters. "I'll be back soon," she whispered, and ran off to her first lesson.

Rose and Callie had already staked a claim to the front row of Advanced Charms. Wren slid in between them and pulled the long polished stick out of her bag. She blinked a few times to clear the sudden small ache between her eyes.

"You alright?" Callie asked.

Wren tried to smile through the pain. "Fine."

Professor Ackerly began the class with a dramatic leap into the middle of the room. He muttered to his wand, wavered it a little to the left and then back to the right, producing a delicate spark of colors that twirled in the air above his head.

Wren was caught up in the subtle movements and colorful display. It was beautiful! She hadn't been this excited about Charms work since third year, when they'd used Carpe Retractum on a row of organ stops during the Music Class's recital.

"Turn to page thirty-seven of your text," Professor Ackerly announced. "Use the words in the text for focus, but by next class, I expect you to do it in silence. Visualization is key. Watch again."

A rainbow of sparks flew out of the professor's wand a second time. When he asked for volunteers, Wren raised her hand, along with Rose and Callie.

"Miss Longbottom, give it a try."

Wren stood and pointed her wand at an angle, like the professor had done. The wood felt heavy in her grip, the strange words thick on her tongue as she flicked tiny ringlets in the air. She glanced up from her text to see the results.

Aannd… nothing.

Wren hadn't expected to get it completely right, but nothing? Embarrassed, she sat down. The two Ravenclaw boys on the other side of Rose snickered.

"No making fun," the professor said, diverting the class's attention. "Everyone give it a go now."

Wren scooted lower in her chair as she watched the Ravenclaws at the next table. Charles McGhee managed a little spark out of the end of his wand, and she silently cheered when Ian Sloan's charm did nothing at all. Callie's wand spit out a spark of blue. Rose was getting a single spark of green, and then orange, but the mix of color was beyond her.

Wren reluctantly stood up, tried again with no luck and finally collapsed back into her chair, defeated. She swiveled around to see if the boys behind her had done any better.

Scorpius looked like he was in Advanced Curses instead of Advanced Charms as he sucked on burnt fingertips and swore under his breath. He poked at Albus with his wand. "You haven't done it yet," he said.

Albus shrugged and pointed his wand into a corner. With his hair flopped over his eyes, he looked genuinely surprised at himself as the colors sparked out of his wand.

"Well done, Potter! Undetermined points to Slytherin!"

"Undetermined? What does that mean?" Rose piped up.

"It means," the professor said, "that I have yet to determine the amount of points to Slytherin."

Rose shot Albus a furious scowl. Then her mouth slackened.

Wren looked back at the Slytherin boys to see what had caught Rose's attention. "What is it?" she whispered over Callie's shoulder.

"Nothing." Rose snapped out of her daze.

Callie giggled. "Rose fancies Scorpius."

"Do not!" Rose hissed and concentrated on a spot in front of her. She mumbled under her breath, flicked her wand and got a spurt of goo. "Rats!"

As the class wore on, Wren's head felt like it was being squeezed through a vice. She brought her hands up to her nose and breathed the lingering scent of fresh hay, relaxing into thoughts of Bunny happily munching on apples.

Wren was still lost in her daydream when Callie nudged her to pick up her quill. "Tonight's homework," she whispered. "Write it down."

It wasn't that Wren hadn't been paying attention. Well, actually she hadn't heard a word of Ackerly's sporadic lecturing over the exclamations of dismay and frustration in the last twenty minutes. She wrote down the assignment, careful to make sure she got the page numbers correct.

Callie and Rose waited for her at the door, and they all started walking together to their next class.

"Trudy was right to call us crackers for joining this class," Callie said. "That's the last time I'm going to let you twist my arm, Rose!"

"I'm starting to wonder if Advanced Charms is worth the hassle," Rose grumbled. "That wasn't fair. He's asking us to do impossible things on the first day. And stupid Scorpius Malfoy is in there!"

"He's rather bright, Rose, or Ackerly wouldn't have let him in the class," Callie pointed out.

"I know he's not _stupid_, but he never wants to work at anything. And Albus got the first points!"

"The lesson gave me a bit of a headache," Wren added, as the pain bounced around inside her skull.

Rose peered into her face as if she could diagnose Wren's issues with a simple stare. "You don't look so good."

Honestly, Wren was having a hard time seeing straight. "It's like a ton of bricks inside my head every time I move."

"Do you want us to walk you to the Hospital Wing?" Rose offered. "Pomfrey has a great potion for that." She clutched her head dramatically. "After that class, I might need something myself."

"No." Wren shook her head and immediately regretted it. "I'll grab a bottle of Pepperup from the dorm."

Callie nodded, something that Wren reminded herself not to do again in the immediate future. "We'll save you a seat in Potions."

Wren headed up the moving staircase, grabbing the handrail when a sudden bout of dizziness slammed into her. Her body moved through the castle on its own as her mind drifted to Bunny, sleeping in the hay. When she found herself in front of the portrait hole to the Gryffindor Common Room, the dizziness had let up but her head was ready to burst from the pain.

"Blubbering basilisk."

The password spilled out of her mouth on its own, not even bothering to wait for her brain to acknowledge it. Wren kept her eyes low, afraid that eye contact with the Fat Lady's portrait would hurt worse than ever. She couldn't remember how she'd managed all those stairs, but as soon as she stumbled into her room and fell on her knees in front of Bunny's hutch, Wren's worry and pain all but melted away.

She lifted the rabbit onto her lap, his nose twitching happily at her. "I'll just close my eyes for a moment," she said, leaning back against her bed. In seconds, she drifted off.

* * *

Two hours later, Wren barreled towards the Magical History classroom, trying to beat the end of the last bell. With one last push, Wren squeezed through the closing door and slid into the nearest empty seat.

Wren set her bag down on the round table and mouthed "sorry" to Rose and Callie, who waved at her from across the room. The boy next to her (that she strangely didn't recognize) twirled his wand between his fingers, his nose buried in a paperback book. The short brown curls on his head shifted like tiny wound up springs when he turned a page.

While a young-looking man wrote something on the board at the front of the room, Wren noticed that all the tables seated four (the two other chairs at her table were empty).

Ian Sloan and his roommate Charles were sitting at the table next to hers, flicking their wands silently in the pattern they'd learned from Advanced Charms.

The man turned away from the board. "Hello, class," he began. "My name is Mr. Summers. This is my first year at Hogwarts."

"Obviously," snickered Sloan.

The man ignored him and went on. "I am an intern here, finishing up my teaching certification. You may also see me around the castle in my other capacity..."

"Janitor," Sloan coughed.

"...as part-time caretaker. Unlike Mr. Filch who retired in July, I have a wand and I know how to use it."

Ian's snickers continued until someone cleared their throat in the back of the room. Sloan settled down under the watchful eye of Professor Babbling, the Runes teacher. No one had noticed her in the back corner of the room until now.

Mister Summers paused until Babbling nodded for him to continue, making little marks on a notebook with her quill.

"If we all get out our books and turn to chapter three..."

"I love this part!" Rose said excitedly. "Oh, sorry Professor... I mean, Mister Summers."

"You love all the parts, Rose," Scorpius said loudly. "Your mum wrote the book."

Rose and Callie's table was the only one in the room with a fifth, empty chair. Albus and Scorpius sat opposite them, and Rose was already scowling, expecting Wren to have been her buffer against Malfoy.

"Ah, Rose Weasley. What a pleasure it is to have you in my class." Mister Summers smiled at her. "I do hope that you relay to your mother what a fine text she has written and how honored I am to have it for my class."

Rose grinned from ear to ear, taking in the compliments for her mum, while Albus squirmed a little from the attention drawn to their table. He'd often complained to Wren about the pressure of having famous parents and all the attention that came with their public past. Rose's parents were equally well-known. But she wasn't bothered by the attention. She reveled in it.

As a first year, Wren could remember her dad's Herbology lessons and how embarrassed she felt whenever the other students made the connection. All she wanted to do was slink into a hole in the ground and disappear. In third year, it got much worse when she overheard students (who weren't her friends, thank goodness!) calling Mr. Longbottom "dreamy". Then there were the comments about his bottom… Wren didn't want to go through that again, not even in her head.

The teacher's lecture shifted from grading policies to interesting anecdotes of his editorial days at the Daily Prophet. Wren tried to stay awake by dividing her classmates by school colors on their robe trim: green, Slytherin. Blue, blue, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw. Scarlett, for the four Gryffindors, including herself. Wren looked around her own table and paused at the unknown boy.

Hufflepuff? The boy next to her adjusted his yellow tie, chuckling along with the teacher's poor attempt at humor. He seemed so approachable and friendly that Wren wondered why he had been sitting by himself in the first place (and why he chose the seat nearest a sticky green handprint on the wall). And then she wondered why she hadn't noticed him before.

The boy with the curly hair raised his eyebrows at her curiously. Wren smiled to be polite and quickly turned back to her own notes, embarrassed to be caught staring.

"And so," Mister Summers said, pulling Wren back to the non-lecture, "our class will partner with Madame Pince the librarian and have weekly Book Club meetings in the library, where we will combine Ancient History with myths and legends of the same period. Also, this term, you will be doing group essays and projects, instead of individual assignments."

As the teacher went on about how fun it would be to meet in the library dressed up as historical figures, Wren saw Scorpius' face break into a scowl and mouth "extra work" to Albus, who rolled his eyes and stretched his arms behind his head.

He had very long arms. She glanced down at his shoes and admired the well-fitting cuffs. Then she blushed, suddenly remembering James' comment about noticing Albus' pants.

"Our first activity," Summers announced, "will be to introduce ourselves to each other. Now, get up everyone."

The class shuffled to their feet and eyed each other at the strange request. Then Ian Sloan stood up and extended his hand to the student next to him. "Hello, Charles," he said in a theatrical voice. "I've been your roommate for the last five years. Nice to finally meet you." His grand display elicited more snickers from the Ravenclaw table.

Mister Summers grinned at them, completely missing the absurdity of his request. Either the reality that they'd all spent the last five years in the same castle together had completely escaped his notice, or the man just wanted to start torturing them straight away.

"Remember," he called out, "you will be working in groups of two or three. Oh, hello Miss Weasley. How very nice to meet you."

While Rose chatted with the teacher about her mum, Wren met her friends somewhere in the middle.

Albus shook her hand, and Wren steadfastly avoided looking anywhere near his pants. It still wasn't fair that he was so much taller than her now.

"You weren't at lunch "

"Headache," Wren said, reluctantly letting go of Albus' hand as Scorpius offered up a fist.

"Longbottom," he greeted her. Wren was about to tap his fist with hers, but Callie pushed him aside and pulled her into a hug.

"Are you alright? You missed the entire first class of Potions! And we looked for you at lunch, but you never came."

"I'm much better, thanks." Wren felt almost like the strange headache had never happened, except for the empty pit in her stomach where her lunch should have been.

Callie patted her shoulder. "Rose and I have the notes from Potions. You can borrow them tonight."

"Thanks, Callie."

"We saved you a seat."

Wren looked over to their table where Albus and Scorpius were settling back in. She could go over there now, and sit next to Albus. rose would just have to deal with Scorpius like she always did. Then she looked back at her original seat and the boy who was politely waiting. "I would, but I don't want to be rude and just leave." she said.

Callie nodded. "There's not room for six," she agreed.

Wren took one last look at the empty seat next to Albus, and then went back to her table.

He'd probably just make her feel short again.

"Hi," the new boy said and offered his hand.

Wren smiled tightly and shook it. "I guess you're new here."

"Not unless you count being here for a whole year still new."

"Oh." Wren felt silly for not remembering something like that. New students in the upper years were rare. She should have noticed him, but then again, he wasn't in her House.

He was still smiling at her, trying to be friendly, Wren guessed. Again, she wondered why he'd been sitting alone. It got her thinking about Dillon's smiling face. Where would he sleep once he got to Hogwarts?

Wren shook herself. It must have been a weird leftover from the headache. She watched the new boy lean back in his chair. "Watch out for the ectoplasm on the wall behind you."

"Back to chapter three..." Mister Summers intoned, at which point Wren realized that she hadn't even opened her book. The boy next to her mumbled something and flicked his wand at his book and it flipped to the next page.

Wren shuffled in her bag for her wand and muttered her own book-opening charm... which did nothing at all. She tried a few more times, unsuccessfully. Her eyes darted around the room, making sure that no one was watching, then she calmly opened her book to the right page without magic.

"I'm Nate. Nate Berkshire," the boy was saying to her. "You're Professor Longbottom's daughter, aren't you?"

"Umm, yeah." Wren's wand arm slid under the table and went through all the fifth year charms in her head.

"_Tarantallegra_," she whispered to her ink pot. No legs sprouted.

Nate Berkshire was looking expectantly at her and Wren couldn't help but feel like she was once again on display. After Rose's enthusiastic outburst about her mother's book, he was probably waiting for Wren to spit out poetic virtues of Herbology.

Everybody knew by now that the Potters and the Weasleys (with the freaky exception of Rose) weren't keen on constant reminders of what they did (or in Scorpius' case, didn't) have to live up to.

She tapped her wand on her desk nervously. Her family didn't have the grand reputation like her friends had to put up with, but her dad was still a professor, which meant that she should be good at _something_.

Why wasn't her wand working?

"Did I say something wrong?" Nate asked. He was looking at her sideways, with his head cocked.

"I don't have it," Wren said, running through her mental list of spells again. She tried consecutively summoning and banishing the chair next to her, which stubbornly didn't budge.

"Have what?"

Frustrated with her wand and starved from skipping lunch, Wren didn't want to go through the explanations all over again. She thought that after second year, she'd made it clear that things like this were not alright with her.

But Nate Berkshire hadn't been at Hogwarts in second year.

"When people start with 'you're Longbottom's daughter'," she began, rehashing the old speech she'd given too many times in the past, "it's usually because they think I have some magic scroll with all the Herbology exam answers on it."

Malfunctioning wand, no lunch, AND missing her first Potions Lesson of the year. Wren was not having a good day.

"_Glacius_!" She hissed, aiming at her quill. It remained dry as a bone. She shook her wand. "What's the matter with this thing?"

Nate frowned.

"It's my first time taking sixth year Herbology too." she snapped. _ "Colovaria_!" When her bag remained a forest green, she backtracked in her head. What hadn't she tried yet?

"I'm not taking Herbology," Nate said calmly.

"Well, err... good." Wren whispered through a battery of second-year charms, but nothing happened: the clock didn't slow, nothing caught on fire (she was getting desperate by now), the chair stayed rooted to the floor and Peeves' ectoplasmic handprint glowed, bright as ever on the wall.

Not good. Then it dawned on her what Nate Berkshire had said, and her dad's worries about sixth years dropping his class. "Why not?"

Nate's head righted itself. "My summer studies covered the same text, so I tested out. Besides, double Herbology wouldn't let me take Alchemy and Ghoul Studies."

"Ghoul Studies? Is that even a class?" Wren wondered aloud. Then she saw the hurt expression on Nate's face. "Oh, sorry."

He put on a good-natured smile like she'd seen earlier in class, and Wren felt bad for being so short with him. "It's fun," he said. "It's not one of those waste-your-time trying-to-prove-yourself classes. Can you believe they tried to sign me up for Advanced Charms? That class is too much pressure if you ask me. I heard the professor starts off with some ridiculously impossible assignment. That's not teaching. It's torture."

At Wren's face, his smile faded. "You're in Advanced Charms, aren't you?"

Actually, Wren couldn't fault him on the "torture" description, because that's exactly what it had felt like. She'd exhausted every spell she knew, except for the first-year charms, and still, nothing had worked. She couldn't even feel the vibration of her wand's core.

"You must be quite talented to get in," Nate said.

Wren could sense him backpedaling as she hissed "_Wingardium Leviosa_" as loud as she dared at her textbook. It zoomed into the air, knocked into the wall and slid down to the floor with a resounding "thunk". Wren almost fell out of her chair in surprise.

When she regained her balance, the class had gone dead quiet. Everyone was staring at her.

"Sorry Prof... err... Mister Summers," she said meekly.

Wren spent the rest of the lesson staring silently at her notes. Now would be a great time for the floor to open up and swallow her... if that hadn't been so close to her nightmare about Bunny last night.

The teacher allowed the last few minutes of class for students to get with their "groups" and work out a plan. Still mortified Wren threw her wand back into her bag and tried not to turn fifty shades of red.

And Nate was still trying to be pleasant. "We could meet in the library for our group assignment. When do you have a free hour?"

Be friendly, a little voice inside her mind told her, and then Dillon's face swam behind her eyes. His boyish grin bloomed until it blocked out all other thoughts. Wren squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She'd had flashes of memories before, but they had never been this clear.

It was starting to freak her out.

"Are you alright?"

Wren busied herself with her bag, not meeting Nate's eyes. "Yeah, fine," she said. "This headache won't leave me alone." She gathered up her books, including the history text that was still lying half against the wall. Maybe she should go to the Hospital Wing and beg for a mild Sleeping Draught and an excuse note for her Potions professor.

She turned back to Nate, who was staring awkwardly at the wall, waiting for the class to be over, probably wanting to get as far away from her weirdness as possible. Everyone knew who she was (even the new students, apparently), and she had no reason to hold that against him. The way she'd been acting reminded her disturbingly of Trudy in one of her bad moods, and if they were going to work together, she needed to fix things straight away… at the very least, she should start with an apology. And since he already seemed to know who her father was, probably a first name.

"Wren," she said, sticking out her hand like a peace offering. "My name's Wren."

Nate's face cleared as he shook her hand. "I know."

* * *

"I'm too short," Dillon complained to the rabbits nibbling on the grass below him. He'd scooted a bench over to the bell hanging from the covered porch at Rothley Station, but even standing on his toes didn't allow his small fingers to reach the clapper.

It was the fourth village they'd been to in four days. Nights, rather. The trains stopped running by this hour of the night - especially along the smaller country routes, making it the best time to follow the tracks in the cool air when no one was around to see him. That's when it was easiest to take what he wanted. But right at that moment, he wanted to see someone very much. He stomped down off the bench. It was no use being so small. Dillon picked up a small pebble and chucked it at the bell. The tiny rock made a satisfying ping off the side, startling the rabbits in the grass.

His letter hadn't found him in Diagon Alley, so he'd followed Wren to King's Cross station the day after that. He imagined that if he was closer to the other young witches and wizards, somehow an owl would find him and give him the recognition that he deserved.

He hid behind the pillars and watched all the other happy, _lucky_ children vanish between platforms nine and ten. After the last student disappeared, he kept waiting, but still, no letter came. Then he'd gotten over himself and started walking, following the squiggles on the Muggle roadmap that Wren had given him.

A nice woman from the tea room came out to him, holding one of the rabbits in her arms. "Isn't it a bit late for a lad like you to be out? The place is closing in a few minutes." She peered out at the smattering of stars in the sky.

Dillon shrugged. The woman didn't know that he'd been holed up under the covered porch all day, or that he'd sent one of his rabbits into the tea room earlier to make a new friend. He was hungry and tired of crouching behind the stairs.

The rabbit was sucking on her finger possessively like the nipple of a bottle, while the woman cooed at it softly. All of them, his friends, had grown at least twice the size of the tiny, helpless forms they'd been just days ago.

Dillon always liked this part, the part where they loved the rabbits so much that he could sink into their minds. It had happened by accident the first time. All he'd done was share himself with the rabbit, nothing too much. They had become a part of him. And then they had brought him friends.

He could feel that the great grey rabbit and his favorite baby white rabbit safely tucked away inside the Wizarding castle by now. Each of them had made a home there.

"Could you bring some food for me?" he asked the woman.

The woman acted like she hadn't heard him, still cooing at the little rabbit in her arms.

Oh, that's right. It didn't work quite like that. Dillon directed his thoughts at the rabbit in the woman's arms and instantly got a mind full of green meadows and shady bushes. He gave the rabbit an image of a beef pasty and a glass of milk and concentrated on the empty feeling in his stomach, which rabbits understood perfectly.

The woman's eyes glazed over. Dillon showed her his little boy smile, baring his missing front teeth.

"I'll be right back," she said, and went back inside the tea room. A short while later, she came out with the rabbit still in the crook of one arm and a plate of egg and cress sandwiches and some sliced apple in the other. She held it out to the rabbit, who munched happily on the apple slices.

Dillon took the plate from the cooing woman, who was still mesmerized by the little twitching nose of her rabbit. He sat down on the hard boards of the porch and grumpily bit into one of the sandwiches. It tasted funny, but sometimes he liked the feeling of chewing something between his teeth, even the missing ones. The downside to his plan was that his friends tended to care more about the rabbits than him. It wasn't much of a down side when he thought about it; he could ask for virtually anything he wanted, and often he would get something close enough.

He directed his thoughts at the little rabbit again as he chewed, showing it the map of Britain and the town he was heading to.

The woman with unfocused eyes said to him, "Peebles is a long, long way away."

"Where," he prodded into the little rabbit's mind.

The woman pointed north. "I know a man who runs a pub in Newstead Village. It's at least a day and a half on foot." An image floated through his mind, of wide fields and a flat, open road with a pub off to the side.

"Then that's where I'll go," he told the rabbit.

The woman merely nodded.

At first, the whole process of talking to his rabbits had been disorienting. He'd been overwhelmed by the smell of grass and clover. He'd heard the rustling of the wind through their ears and the sudden rise of panic when noise startled them. Then there was the gut wrenching twisting and he saw through their eyes that they were somewhere else entirely, somewhere that they'd seen just moments before, far away from where they had been.

He liked being able to go places that quickly.

He thought about it again, like a repeating dream, how wonderful it would be at Hogwarts. His mother had told him that the headmaster was a wise and powerful wizard who would help him learn the magicks.

He already had his mother's wand. It didn't do much except shoot out a few sparks for fun, but he knew that once he got to the wizard school, they'd show him exactly what to do with it. He reached into his basket and took it out, examining the fine polished wood in the station's lamplights. Tonight, the wand felt like it was talking to him. Dillon got a strange zing through his arm when he pointed the wand down at the ground. He suddenly felt like he could _do _something with it.

Dillon pointed the wand at a nearby walnut tree. "Move!" The rabbits out on the grass looked up, startled. They scrambled for cover under the stairs when he pointed his wand at the tree again. In his mind, the tree swayed wildly. Dillon felt a prickling down his arm and scrunched up his face.

"Move!"

Plunk.

An apple fell from the highest branches and landed on the ground. The little boy cackled and scooped it up with glee. He bit into the fruit and chewed thoughtfully. It was sweet, but not too sweet. It tasted a little bit nutty. He gazed up with great satisfaction at the walnuts waiting to rain down.

He'd just made an apple out of a nut. Dillon had never done something so... useful with magic before. But how?

A flash of white fur filled his mind, followed by the face of the sweet girl who he'd sent ahead to make a place for him at Hogwarts Castle. Wren, he thought. Then he smiled. He was ready. So very ready for school.

Dillon discarded his sandwich on the plate and hugged the basket to him. There were no more excuses. This was the year that he was going to Hogwarts. "Take me to Newstead," he told the rabbit.

The woman gasped when the little thing hopped down from her arms and went to the boy instead. The boy gathered it up in his arms, patting it gently. He felt inside it, finding the need to flee, hugging it tightly to his chest, along with the basket, now filled with the rest of the rabbits who had instinctively felt his need to be on his way.

The rabbit in his arms shimmered. All at once, the boy was bathed in a bright light. As his insides twisted, he felt for the other rabbits, calling them, showing them the new place where he wanted to be.

The woman shielded her eyes as the light grew brighter, surrounding the boy and his basket. When she finally was able to peek through her fingers without hurting her eyes, all that was left of the boy and his rabbits was a fading ball of light.

* * *

A/N: Hello readers! These last few chapters have come pretty quick. Wow! From here on out, I'll be posting weekly. You can expect the chapters up around the weekends or at the start of the week... something like that. So if you like what you've seen, follow or favorite, or whatever you folks do these days. :P

Cookies to anyone who finds typos! A big thank you goes to darkin520 and AFLlover for favoriting! Also, thanks to Inkfire, ReadingBlueWolf, Leonidas701, and darkin520 for your lovely reviews!


	8. Chapter 8: Hearts and Spades

Chapter 8: Hearts and Spades

Friday after classes, Albus perched high in a tree with a perfect view of four separate entrances to the castle. Suddenly, his shoe crackled. Albus almost lost his balance as he tore the shoe off and held it up to his ear.

"Any sign of him yet?" Scorpius' voice broke through the sole.

Albus spoke to the heel of his shoe. "Not yet. Are you sure he took a right after leaving Potions? Maybe he went into the Great Hall."

"Nah, he went right. Right and then left, and then... wait. Something's happening." Albus heard a rustling sound through the shoe and pulled it away from his ear. Then there was more crackling and Scorpius' voice came through again. "I've got him in sight. Get ready."

"Which door?" Albus asked.

"Garden entrance."

Albus swiveled around to aim his wand at the double doors leading to the greenhouses, but the quick move knocked the shoe out of his hand. He grappled for it as it fell to the ground. Albus snapped his attention back to the entrance just as James was coming out. The tip of his wand glowed, ready to banish his brother's wand back up to his room. He aimed and cast a perfect shot. He grinned as his brother stopped short and felt around in his pockets. James looked confused and then turned around to hurry back inside the castle.

Phase one was complete.

"Accio shoe." Albus caught the shoe as it zoomed up to him. He spoke excitedly into it. "Did you see that? I think it worked!" Static came through the heel so loudly that Albus had to hold the shoe away from his ear again.

When the noise faded, he put the shoe back up to his ear. "You still there?" he asked it.

A shrill bell rang out across the lawn, dismissing the last class of the day. Students started coming out onto the green in droves. Shrugging at the unresponsive shoe, he stuck his wand inside the sole and wordlessly cancelled the communication charm. Then he set about the strange balancing act of sitting in a tree and re-lacing his shoe.

He was just about to hop down from the branches to the ground when he spotted Wren exiting the castle. Albus sat up straighter. She was heading right for him.

"There you are, Bunny," she said to the little animal under her arm, settling in under the tree and taking her camera out of its case. The new lens he'd given her was attached to the end of the camera. She crouched down to get a few shots from different angles in the grass, and disappeared from his view beneath a cluster of leaves.

Albus brushed aside a twig so he could see her better. "So that's Bunny."

Wren rolled over to look at him through the leaves. "Isn't he adorable?"

He tore his eyes away from her and looked at the little white rabbit munching on clover. "Definitely cuter than mine."

"I didn't know you had a rabbit," Wren said with interest.

Albus shrugged. "Still trying to figure out why. James gave it to Scorpius to give to me, and I've been stuck with it ever since."

Wren wrinkled her nose, quite like her little pet. "You make it sound like a disease. Was that the same rabbit that Scorpius had on the train? Rose said it was an absolute monster."

Wren's rabbit happily nibbled away, hardly comparable to the oversized grey blob in Albus' room, with patches of hair missing and an attitude the size of Manchester. He hadn't been sure that it was a real rabbit, or just an elaborate prank that might blow up in his face (since it came from James). He'd applied every anti-charm and anti-hex spell he knew to the cage before tossing the drooling beast inside. Then he'd added a few extra wards for good measure. Between the rattling cage and the demon-red eyes that followed him around the room, he could hardly stand the thing.

Albus shuddered. "He's definitely not like yours."

Albus jumped down from the tree and squatted beside her. "I didn't see you all weekend." Or much at all the last few days, he realized, which was surprising since they shared three classes together.

"I was helping Bunny adjust to his new home. I think he likes it here now." Wren patted her rabbit and looked at Albus with a smile.

He smiled back. "That's good." Actually, it was very good. If she was done worrying about Bunny, then maybe...

They used to talk all the time, and laugh and joke about everything. He missed having her around and wondered when things had changed so much that he had to wait for days just to get a chance to talk to her.

He took a breath, intending to start a normal conversation that didn't involve any strangeness. "What do you think of the new history teacher?"

"I think he's interesting. Look how he twitches his nose when he eats."

Oh, the rabbit. He sat down on a large root and watched her pat Bunny on the head, incredulous that he could be jealous of a pet. "Yeah, twitchy."

"He likes you," Wren said, her eyes roaming back to Bunny, "but he thinks you smell funny."

Albus sniffed the air automatically. What was she trying to say? Was it his shoe? Wait. why did she say that her rabbit smelled something funny? It reminded him of his little sister when she was three, playing pretend with her dolls.

What was going on with Wren?

"I told him that he had to like you," Wren spoke up again, "since we've always been friends."

Even for weird, this was getting out of hand. Albus tried to figure out what to say next, but he came up with nothing.

"Bunny, look over here!" She clicked at the rabbit again, seeming to forget that they were in the middle of a conversation. "I love this lens. It's perfect!"

Not that they were having a real conversation. Was this her way of telling him that she wasn't interested? She wasn't even looking at him anymore. He had so much hope riding on that lens when he picked it out for her. He was glad that she loved it, but he'd hoped that she'd read more into it, that she'd see him differently afterwards.

This wasn't the different that he'd imagined.

He tried again. "What are you doing on Saturday?"

Wren's face contorted. "I don't want to think about that. I have to go home."

"Home already?" Albus sat up straighter with worry. "Did something happen with your Gran?"

"No. Mum needs my help is all." Wren was still looking at Bunny instead of him. "I'm going to miss him so much." She scooped up the little rabbit and stood. "I have to get him settled with Rose and Callie. Headmistress McGonagall set up the portkey to leave here first thing in the morning, and then I'll be gone for the day. Do you think he'll be alright without me?"

She was talking about the rabbit again. "Yeah, sure he will." Albus' rabbit was doing fine without him, obviously, but Wren hadn't asked. He was starting to feel like she was having this discussion with herself, whether he was sitting here beside her or not.

Albus got up and brushed himself off. "I'll see you later then, maybe on Sunday." He was almost afraid to ask what she was doing when she got back. The old Wren would have at least asked him why he was so high up in the tree, or she might have even climbed up on the lower branches to join him, like they used to last spring. Together.

They hadn't done anything together since they'd gotten back to school. Not once. She hadn't even come over to sit at his table in Ancient History. Instead, she'd partnered up with Nate Berkshire. Last night, when Albus and Scorpius were arguing over their essay topic, he'd seen them working together in the library. He wished he'd asked Wren to be his partner instead.

He was a little hurt that she hadn't once asked him what his plans were, or if he wanted to hang out after classes like they used to. The pain in his gut flared. Would it have made a difference if he had stayed up in that tree and ignored her completely?

Albus waited for Wren to say something else, anything else… but she was too focused on her pet rabbit. He sighed and walked back to the castle. Obviously, she wasn't affected either way, which made it hurt even more.

.

.

.

Albus and Scorpius ducked down the set of stairs into the Hogwarts dungeons. They stopped at a blank stone wall. Albus kicked at the wall, and Scorpius gave him a questioning look.

"What?" Albus kicked at the wall again, needing to take his frustration out on something.

"Did you tell her?"

"I tried."

"Merry merfolk," Scorpius announced. The stone wall opened to the Slytherin Common Room, bathed in a green-filtered light. "Who's in charge of these passwords, anyway? They're getting worse every year."

Scorpius ribbed Albus with his elbow. "Anyway, tried how? Did you snog her senseless, or did you two have one of those girly talks where no one gets to the point?"

Albus grumbled. "Why is it that you aren't helping?"

They passed a small crowd trying to mob the seventh-year Quidditch captain who was passing out tryout pamphlets. Scorpius snagged one away from an eager second year. He glanced at it and tossed it to Albus. "Right. So this plan with James..." He reached inside his robe and pulled out a folded piece of ratty parchment. "He hardly looked up when I bumped into him, but I didn't find the enchanted stone in his pocket. Just this smelly old thing instead. So what did you have in mind for phase two?"

Albus tossed the Quidditch practice timetable to the eager second year hovering around them. Tryouts weren't for another two weeks. That could have been two weeks hanging out with Wren, but after the non-conversation this afternoon, he wasn't keen to set himself up for another letdown.

"She's going home this weekend to help out her mum."

Maybe she was just stressed out about going home to see her gran. Wren worried a lot about her family, so much that she hadn't wanted anyone around all summer. Albus kicked himself again for not checking up on her. Something strange was going on.

"I'm not talking about Wren! You de-charmed your shoe in the middle of the mission," Scorpius hissed at him, not wanting to be overheard by the entire room, which was filling up fast once news of the timetables spread.

"The mission went off fine." Albus wasn't thinking about their plan anymore. He was more worried over Wren.

Scorpius punched his arm. "You're not listening. All I have to show for my troubles is this ratty old thing." He shook the yellowed parchment in front of Albus.

Albus' eyes almost bugged out of his head. He snatched the parchment out of Scorpius' hand and shoved it inside his robe. "Don't wave that thing around!"

"Fine, you keep the scrap. It stinks worse than sweaty socks. What are we gonna do now?" When Albus didn't say anything else, Scorpius punched him in the arm. Hard.

"Godric's gobstones, would you quit punching me! I'm not sure." Albus was at a loss. She'd never _not_ wanted him around before. What if she was trying to get rid of him? "She was never like this before."

"I'm talking about the stone, you skrewt. And Godric can shove those gobstones up his..."

"Shhh! First-years," Albus interrupted him, letting the smaller group of students cross in front of them, before turning on his friend. "Give it a rest. I can't think about that right now."

"No, you can't think about anything - too busy moping about because Wren's not giving you the moon eyes." Scorpius made a disgusted clicking noise with his tongue that Albus would have expected from his friend's uppity mother.

"She's been through a lot. I thought I'd give her a few days."

"A few days? You've given her the whole summer. What are you waiting for? She's been hanging out with you for years."

Albus didn't respond. He hated to think that Wren was acting weird because of him, but as the days wore on, it was becoming a possibility that she just might not want him hanging around like she used to.

"And she's cute," Scorpius added. "She's a love."

Albus' head jerked up sharply. "What are you trying to say?"

Scorpius chuckled. "Only that if you don't move soon, someone else will." Suddenly his smirk disappeared. "I didn't mean me! Blimey! Her hair's too short. And ergh, that thing she does with her..."

Albus' eyes narrowed as Scorpius' words trailed off. "What thing?"

His friend waved his hand in the air. "Completely not my type. All I'm saying is you're going to fanny about too long and when you finally get your head out of your arse, she'll be settling into someone new."

"Says you," Albus shot back, his thoughts going back to the library and Wren sitting with Nate Berkshire. "I don't see you making any progress."

"But I am," Scorpius said, waggling his fingers in the air. "And here she comes now."

"Who?" Albus looked around the common room for his red-haired cousin. It couldn't be Rose. The one time she'd even entertained the thought of setting a toe into the Slytherin common room was when James had let a swarm of gnats loose in the library.

"Opportunity." Scorpius pointed to the pretty blonde girl in their year who had just taken a timetable from the captain and was on her way out the door. "Oi, Platt!"

She turned around and Scorpius winked at her.

"What are you doing?" Albus hissed. Serena Platt had a habit of going through boys like a cheap pair of sports trainers. Albus thought of the shoe he'd lost in the tree that afternoon, and his spirits sank to a new low.

"Employing new tactics, my friend. You're obviously too distracted to think about the mission, so there's no use discussing it now."

Albus never got too close to Serena and the other Slytherin sixth year girls, mostly because she and her friends were always a breath away from a bin full of gossip and a bottle of body lotion. Other than that, all he knew about her was that she was ruthless at wizard chess, and last year she had made a decent Chaser. "She's likely to be on the team again. It's bad luck for Quidditch players to date each other."

Scorpius shrugged. "Better than dating no one. And she's in the Photography Club with Long-knickers. Inside information!" He scampered off before Albus could try to convince him further that chasing after Serena Platt was a bad idea. Though it didn't look like Scorpius had to do much chasing. "I hear you like smooth skin," Scorpius said, holding out the crook of his arm. He flexed with strained effort before a soft bulge formed above the inside of his elbow. "Would you like to feel my bicep?"

Serena giggled. "Ooh! Can I bring my camera?"

Albus collapsed onto a couch and tried not to watch as they left the common room together. When the room emptied out, he pulled the folded parchment out of his pocket and stared at it incredulously. James was going to go into a fiendfyre frenzy when he realized what Scorpius had done.

Forget about the stone. This was even better!

.

.

.

When Wren got back to her room, the little animal had fallen asleep in her arms. She placed him gently into the hay and hovered over the cage for a few minutes to watch his soft, steady breathing and an occasional twitch of his tiny paws.

Wren felt a sudden sense of loss, and then blinked rapidly. For some reason, she couldn't remember why she'd come up to her room in the first place.

"Oh well," she whispered to herself. "I guess I could find something else to do, until he wakes up."

Wren went to put her books down on her bedside table, but it was covered with rolls and rolls of little plastic cylinders. She pushed at the clutter to clear a spot, and a flurry of canisters spilled onto the floor. A few of them rolled underneath her bed.

There were so many things that she normally did that she hadn't done yet. The pictures, for one. Wren had never allowed the film to go more than a few days without being developed. Fresh film always made crisper images. She had to fix this. 

Tossing her books onto her bed, Wren swept the pile of black cartridges into her bag. Then she got down on her hands and knees and fished the stray rolls of film from under her bed. Casting one more glance at the sleeping rabbit, she slung her camera strap around her neck, grabbed her broom and headed down to the greenhouses.

Wren stepped out onto the castle grounds and squinted into the late afternoon sun. She wandered past the first of a long row of whitish-grey domed glass buildings. There were seven in all, plus a small two-level brick building that sat behind the vegetable gardens. The modern architecture of the Herbology Professor's office looked like it belonged on the streets of London, rather than inside the ancient walls of Hogwarts. As she passed the fourth greenhouse, Wren had to step around a deep, muddy ditch that she was sure hadn't been there the year before.

A few yards away, Wren found her dad up to his knees and elbows in a bed of muck. Whatever he was doing must be for the seventh year class because she didn't recognize the strangely shaped, iridescent tubers that he was tossing into the wheelbarrow.

Wren almost turned around before he noticed her, not wanting him to ask her how her first week of lessons was going. But before she could scoot away, her dad's head came into view as he shoveled a clump of dirt out of the ditch. He caught sight of her and swiveled around.

"Hello, Wren!" He gestured to her camera and her bag of film. "I'd help you clean up the shed, but..." he shrugged, holding up his muddy hands.

"It's alright, Dad," she called back. "I can do it myself." She waved her broom in the air. Last year, after sitting vacant for an entire summer, the cobwebs were so thick that it had taken the two of them a good half-hour to get the doorway clear.

"Good, good," her father said, shoveling more dirt on top of the last pile. 

Wren hurried by before the conversation turned too personal.

Beyond the professor's quarters and around the back of Greenhouse Two stood a smaller tool shed. Together, Wren and her dad had cleared it out and set up a darkroom when she was in third year and had discovered photography for the first time. Anyone in the Magical Photography Club could use it, but Wren was one of only a handful of students who ever went out there.

"Oh, and Wren?" She halted on her heel, two greenhouses short of a spidery escape. "Did you get your mum's letter?"

Wren nodded. When she'd first seen her mother's handwriting, she'd instantly gotten images of her mother tearing her hair out over a room of floating pillows. "Is Gran alright? Is something wrong?"

"No, no! Nothing of that sort," her dad said, wrestling his hand out of the mud to grab a pair of shrubbery shears. "St. Mungo's needs someone to gather the rest of the boxes from the err..." he struggled with one of the long roots and snipped it off where it met the dirt, "... long term care ward. I have another meeting with the bank and your mum's got her hands full at the Inn."

"I can do it," she said quickly. "I've already written back to her."

She hadn't minded at first, when her parents had asked about going home for a weekend or two. But now that she was at school, she wished she didn't have to go back and face the possibility that Gran was never getting better. Or that there might be something wrong with _her_.

She ducked around Greenhouse Three and approached the old tool shed. When she was away from home, she didn't have to think about Gran. She had Bunny now. After she got the film soaking in the developing solution, Bunny might be awake again. They could wait together out on the grassy hill next to the tool shed while her pictures dried.

On the outside, it looked like a lopsided shack that hadn't been completely attached to its foundation. Several spiders scurried out as she swept over the doorframe and squashed them with her broom. Strangely, there were fewer cobwebs than she had thought there'd be.

Wren raised her wand and tried out a basic domestic spell and sighed with relief as the rest of the cobwebs disappeared. After three days of failure in Advanced Charms, she had thought something was wrong with her wand, or worse yet, with herself. Thank goodness her ineptness hadn't bled over into her Potions class, where she could still competently brew her assignments. Then her sixth year Transfiguration had started with a three-week review on magical theory, which had made her even happier.

Simple spells were all she was capable of since getting back to school. Wren had meant to go through Gran's Magical Maladies texts to see if they had documented cases of a witch or wizard starting to lose their magic... Wren tried not to think about it like that, but the other night she'd had a nightmare where the Healers had told her that she'd contracted some rare condition brought on by hereditary mental instability, and then they'd locked her up in a room full of empty people, just like her grandparents...

Wren shook off the memory. It was only a dream, after all. She hadn't told anyone about it either. Rose and Callie would make a big deal out of it and drag her down to Madame Pomfrey's to get herself checked out. And Albus...

She didn't want to worry anyone - not until she was sure. It was only the first week of school. Her spells were slowly improving. Maybe in another week she'd be back to normal.

Maybe not. Wren opened the shed door and was greeted by a small wooden statue of a garden gnome that seemed to leer at her. Maybe she couldn't go back to normal… maybe if things had changed, there was no going back. Or maybe she should stop thinking such fatalistic thoughts and keep believing that things were going to get better.

The gnome held closed a thick, drawn curtain that portioned off the rest of the shed, a clear signal that the darkroom was in use. Out of habit, Wren lit her wand with a soft red glow and shut the door before moving through the curtains. Inside, the walls were lined with old Potions lab tables. A cauldron of developing potion bubbled gently in one corner. In the other corner, a beat up old sofa from the Hufflepuff common room sat unoccupied. Judging by the small parchment squares drying on the line over one of the tables, someone had clearly been here before her.

The hanging images showed different angles of soft, curved surfaces. There were no faces, just skin-colored, extreme close-up shots with views too narrow for anyone to tell exactly what the subjects really were. It didn't take a Seer to figure out that the photographs belonged to Serena Platt, the Slytherin in Wren's year who was also in the photography club.

She reached out and gently traced the curves in the air in front of one of the images that caught her eye. The color was softer, paler than the others, with tiny diagonal ridges running along the crease in the center. It was oddly warm and feminine, and Wren had to turn away before her imagination took her to places she didn't want to go.

Wren busied herself with clearing the dust off of the opposite table. When the package of blank parchment squares were laid out, she ladled the developing potion into a spare bucket. Then she dropped the film canisters in and waited with her wand ready.

As the transparent pictures unraveled from her film and lifted into the air, Wren zapped each of them with her wand and guided them over to the small parchment squares on the table. The pictures settled onto the parchment in a watery haze and began to seep into the heavy-stock.

She felt a tickling sensation behind her eyes, and immediately thought about Bunny. He was probably awake by now and wondering where she was. Wren fretted in the darkroom. Had she stayed away from him for too long? Was he panicking without her? She looked around at the parchment squares and the ghostly images that continued to rise from the cauldron. It would only take a few more minutes, and she'd be done here. She needed to finish it, or a whole week's worth of photographs would be ruined.

After Wren caught the last of the pictures in mid-air and placed it on the final parchment square, she tucked her wand behind her ear and looked over her watery pictures. She carefully picked up the first adorable image of Bunny, remembering how quickly the little rabbit was able to get from the floor to her bed and back down again. She didn't think such a little animal could jump that high or move that fast.

Wren tested the corner of the parchment with a finger, and when it came away smudge free, she eagerly got out the instructions for the animation charm and applied it, anxious to see how the new charm worked.

A sprinkle of powder. One, two, three taps with her wand, and the charm was done.

In the red glow of her wand, Wren gasped as Bunny disappeared entirely from the picture. She stared at the blank parchment, wondering what had gone wrong. It was supposed to be a simple spell, "as easy as Levitation and twice as fun", was what the instructions had said. Ten seconds later, Bunny reappeared on the parchment, but a bright ball of light flashed where Bunny had been, and then he was gone again. Wren frowned at the blank photograph, now only showing an empty bedspread in her room at the Inn, instead of the adorable creature she'd meant to capture on film.

The new animation captured five additional seconds of action alright. Or non-action, in this case. Maybe the picture hadn't dried long enough for the animation charm to take hold. Or maybe the charm was more delicate than it claimed, like the spells in her advanced class that she hadn't mastered yet. She strung up another line across the shed and hung the rest of her pictures to dry. Maybe in a few more days, when her magic was stronger, she'd try it again. Wren watched the picture again, and something tickled the back of her mind. That light...

Her eyes began to itch, and Wren remembered that she had to get back to Bunny.

Later, when the warm sun began to set on the little rabbit in her arms, Wren felt much better. "We have a whole hour together while the pictures dry."

Her dad passed by, wheeling the barrow full of the sparkling tubers to his office behind Greenhouse One, and waved. Wren waved back feeling quite pleased with the state of things.

"You'll be fine without me," Wren told him, patting him on the head. "It will only be a day."

It was strange, but sometimes Wren felt that Bunny could understand her words, and sometimes even hear her thoughts.

Only a day, Wren repeated in her mind. She could spend one day away from Bunny, couldn't she?


	9. Chapter 9: Stone Hearted

Chapter 9: Stone Hearted

The portkey deposited Wren in a patch of bright sunshine right behind the Leaky Cauldron. She shielded her eyes and felt the summer's anxieties stare down from the rows of windows above her.

Inside, a mix of freshly baking bread and sliced onions slammed into her senses. Wren's stomach rumbled in spite of her early breakfast.

"Mum? I'm... here."

She couldn't bring herself to call this place home.

A tall, dark-haired man was wiping down the counters and Wren's heart lifted. "Tom! You're..."

Wren's heart stopped as the man turned around. "... not Tom," she finished lamely. She'd never seen this strange, ageless face before, but she felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity with him. He locked eyes with her, and for a split second, she was drawn in. All at once, his eyes widened in surprise. He quickly turned away as Hannah Longbottom hustled into the room from the kitchen with a pitcher in one hand and a stack of parchment in the other.

"Wren!" Hannah wrapped the pitcher and the parchment around her daughter and squeezed. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too." A sudden pinch between Wren's eyes made it difficult to do anything other than bury her head into her mum's shoulder.

"Oh!" her mum exclaimed, pulling away from her suddenly. "These need to be taken to St. Mungo's before eight thirty!" She set down the pitcher and conjured a large envelope. Then she slid the papers inside and gave it to Wren.

"Hospital papers? Is it about Gran?" Wren asked. She sat down on a stool to steady herself as her head flared again.

Her mum sighed. "Gran's better some days. The same on others. But don't mention anything to her about the hospital boxes. We don't want to set her off. Just a moment, dear!" Wren's mother ran back into the kitchen.

Wren heard oven pans being jostled about, and fingered the thick envelope. Setting off Gran? Did that mean Gran was reacting to things again? Her excitement went down a few notches as she realized exactly what she was holding.

Her grandparents' medical histories were in that envelope. It might mention any hereditary conditions… and she hadn't meant to, but she was starting to feel like she should tell someone about the headaches and losing her magic. Even for a witch, that couldn't be normal, could it?

Her mum burst back out into the tavern, this time with a cauldron of self-peeling potatoes. "I'm sorry about that, Wren. Oh, and Nellie says hello. She's sad she missed you this morning, but her hours at the sewing shop got shifted to right after breakfast. They're giving her a chance this season to do more than simple fittings and alterations. Isn't that wonderful? Maybe you could stop in and see her when you come back from the hospital."

Hospital. The word alone made Wren queasy.

"Mum, I really wanted to talk to you about..." Wren was cut off again when her mum let out a startled shout and pointed her wand to the ceiling.

She looked up as an invisible force pitched an entire load of bed sheets over the balcony railing.

"No, Augusta!" her mum called up the stairs. "I told you I'd get those in a minute!" Wren's mother swiped her wand at the falling linens and they folded themselves and landed neatly on top of one of the tables. "Thinks she can help now," she muttered to herself. Then she checked the time. "Better hurry, Wren. It's a quarter past eight already."

"But mum," Wren said, pleading.

"Later, Wren." Her mum smiled at her kindly and patted her shoulder. "We'll make time later." Then she was rushing away to the back for another pot.

Wren stepped out of the floo and into the cold, sterile air of St. Mungo's Hospital, her feet automatically taking the route to the Magical Maladies Ward without thinking. She'd gone there so many times before... too many times. Every Christmas, every summer. Sometimes in between holidays if Gran felt nostalgic. Like the time they'd been out in the country and come across a field of sunflowers. Gran had to pick several armfuls and bring them to the Ward straight away. "Alice loves yellow," she'd said.

"Wren! How nice to see you!" Wren looked up and found herself at the Healer's station in the Magical Maladies Ward. She hadn't even realized that she'd come that far already.

Wren had expected old Healer Strout, but when she looked up, she saw a fresh, new face behind the counter. She recognized her as the young Healer that had shadowed the old woman just a few months before her grandparents died. When she was a little girl, Wren would always bring a second set of flowers for Healer Strout's room, thinking that the woman must live on the same floor as her grandparents. It was strange seeing a new face in an old place like this.

"I have a packet from my mum," Wren said, handing it over to Healer Stebbins.

The young Healer opened the packet with an efficient smile. "Yes, we've been waiting for these to be picked up. The boxes are packed and ready to go. They've been sitting here for months, but I'm sure your family has been busy. Stay here while I verify the signatures. I'd hate to have you come back for more paperwork."

Wren silently agreed. She would hate to come back for any reason. A loud moan rose from down the hall and she shuddered, trying not to think of prone bodies lying under crisp white sheets.

"Oh dear, I'll be right back. Looks like Mister Snurfly is having another episode." The Healer hurried down the hall, her white robes swishing behind her.

Wren thought about Gran and how her mum had said she was doing "better". It could mean a thousand different variations on "same as always but we're not losing hope", which was the unspoken line that the Healers had plastered to their faces every time the family came to visit Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Bed sheets weren't too different from floating pillows. She wondered, if Gran didn't improve, was she going to end up here?

If Wren lost her mind and her magic, would she end up here too?

It wasn't the first time she'd thought about it. When she was fourteen, the family had come for a regularly-scheduled winter visit and Wren overheard Head Healer Strout discussing hereditary conditions with a family in the suite next to theirs, and how overjoyed the woman had been to hear that her sister could go home for the holiday if she was able to physically function on her own. Ten minutes later, Wren thought she'd seen her grandmother's hand move under the sheets. She didn't go to sleep for two nights. At the Potter's Christmas gathering, she'd huddled up in a ball on the floor of Albus' room, exhausted and terrified with visions of her grandparents rising up out of their beds and brainlessly stumbling around.

"They'll make us take them home like that!" she'd whispered.

"St. Mungo's won't let you," Albus said. "They have a strict policy on housing the undead. Aunt Hermione told me so."

"But what if they're already dead and we just haven't realized it?" At that, Albus had pumped her full of eggnog and cracked zombie jokes at her until she calmed down.

"What's the safest place in your house from a zombie? The living room."

"Why did the zombie go crazy? Because he lost his mind."

It was so stupid, but Wren had laughed hard enough that she had to pee.

"Don't worry," he'd said, putting his arm around her and shoving another eggnog in her hand, "If it really happens, I won't let them eat your brains. Oh, I got another one. What do vegetarian zombies eat? Graaaiiins!"

It was why she loved him so much. As a friend, Wren reminded herself. A very good, bad-zombie-joke telling friend.

The pain in her head suddenly grew more insistent, and she leaned forward against the counter. If anything happened to her, if she lost her magic completely, would he come and visit her in the cold, sterile ward at St. Mungo's? Would the Potters allow their son to be friends with a crazy girl?

Would he even want to?

Her eyes fell to the papers scattered in a heap, just beyond her reach over the lip of the Healer's station partition. At the end of the hall, Healer Stebbin's voice rose above the moans. "Lie still, now. It will only take a moment."

Wren's heart pounded as she frantically reached down and shuffled through the forms. She was just putting them in order, she would say. She skimmed the top of the stack, orders, instructions, nothing new. The Healer had pulled their charts too, so Wren took those and flipped through them.

It was the same malady as she'd always known: curse by Death Eaters. Down at the lower half of the page, the name of the Death Eaters responsible were listed - Lestrange, Lestrange, Crouch - along with the treatments prescribed to reverse the damage - she flipped through the old history until she came across a dog-eared report dated immediately after the war trials, describing how they'd talked to Frank and Alice Longbottom after the sentencing, hoping that when the torturers were brought to justice, it would improve their situation.

Later, there was a record titled "condition watch", during the twenty-four hour period after the last of their torturers was finally pronounced "deceased". At the bottom of the page, it was noted that Frank and Alice were "unchanged'.

Wren hadn't thought of that before. Curses were broken by death, but if long-term physical or mental damage was inflicted by the curse, the condition could be... she turned the page.

_Irreversible_.

Wren scanned through the list below the Healer's report, dated a month before her grandparents' deaths. Her eyes stopped at each blackened box: "permanent physical deterioration", "healing droughts ineffective", "projected six months until internal functions shut down". She turned to the last page with an equally disturbing list. Highlighted in green were the lines, "experimental treatments", "life extension potions" and "M.H.E.", all with a big red "declined by family" stamp over them.

Wren's insides churned. She was ready to put the whole file back down where she had picked it up, when a silver ticket slid out of the stack with large bold letters on it.

She jumped as the Healer came up next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry about the delay."

"I put them in order for you," Wren mumbled, shoving the ticket back inside the file and handing her the stack guiltily.

"Thank you." The Healer didn't act like Wren had done anything wrong by snooping through her family's records. She opened the file and the silver ticket slipped out again. The Healer caught it before it fluttered to the floor. She turned it over in her hand. "Oh, yes. I remember when Healer Strout told me about the family's decision. It must be the hardest decision your family has to make."

Wren's head swam as she nodded faintly. "Um, I must have forgotten. What does the M.H.E. stand for?"

"Mystical Heart Equilator. It keeps the heart beating when nothing else will." The Healer placed the silver ticket on top of the file and closed it. "When she signed the DNMR, she said she wanted to remove them herself. Brave woman. Healer Strout was certain that there was nothing more to be done." The Healer looked sympathetically down at Wren. "How is Mrs. Longbottom?"

Removed them? Wren's heart almost stopped in her chest. "She's fine," she said weakly. She knew what the "do not magically resuscitate" option was, but she'd always thought that it was only used for patients who were going to die no matter what. Gran would never have agreed to it. She'd always held out a hope for Wren's grandparents to get better. None of this new information made any sense. If Gran hadn't signed the form, then it must have been the other Mrs. Longbottom.

Wren's knees felt wobbly. "I have to go."

"Shall we send the boxes to the new address?" the Healer asked her.

Wren nodded faintly and hoped her knees would hold out long enough to get to the floo.

Hannah Longbottom hefted two very full, very hot trays of meat pies out of the oven. She was so glad Wren had come home to help out with the errands. She'd been avoiding the hospital's letters, thinking that one mention would set Augusta off again. She had just set the trays onto the cooling racks when Wren burst into the kitchen, breathless and flustered.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, dear?" She took off her oven mitts and laid them by the racks. When she turned to face her daughter, she knew something was terribly wrong.

Tears streamed down her daughter's face, and she looked like she'd run up against an army of ghosts. "You killed them!" Wren cried.

Wren's face crumpled as her mum led her into the store room and sat her down on a stack of rice bags. Wren wanted to scream. Her head was pounding. The logical part of her brain pointed out that maybe it was alright to go ahead; sacks of grain were great sound insulators.

"Why didn't you tell me it wasn't going to be a normal visit? They died, and everyone knew but me. And then Gran... is that why she's so messed up?"

"She wanted to do it her way."

"But you signed the DNMR," Wren said. Her own mother had made them stop breathing - stolen the rest of their lives and any chance of recovery.

"Augusta signed the form." At Wren's disbelieving stare, Hannah continued on, "I would have told you what was happening if there was time, but you know how stubborn Gran can be, once she puts her mind to something. We walked into St. Mungo's that day, and she decided that it was time." Her mum eased onto the rice palate with her. "We'd been talking about it last spring while you were still at school, going over the options. They were both deteriorating fast, and nothing was helping. Augusta felt like everything had been done that could have been done. No one could tell if they were in any pain."

"Why didn't you tell me what was going on?" Wren remembered how Gran had given small, round stones to the Healers right before the magical monitors had gone black. She hadn't known what they were at the time.

"We didn't want you to be part of the decision, Wren. Gran was afraid that you wouldn't understand the decision."

"You don't think I can face reality?" Wren's voice cracked as it rose an octave higher. She was the one who sat with Gran all summer. She had helped out whenever her mum needed another set of hands. She had ignored her friends for months, and she'd never complained.

"No, it's just that you're young, and we didn't want to burden you."

"I'm sixteen! I had a right to know!"

She'd been doing nothing but worrying over her own bleak future for the last few weeks. What kind of a life was she going to have without magic? Was her life going to be good when she went insane? Her world was shifting around her and no one wanted to talk about it.

If her mum didn't think that she could handle the truth about her grandparents, what was she going to do if Wren told her about her own symptoms?

Would they take away Wren's choices about her own life?

Wren hiccupped and sniffed. "I have a headache." There. She'd said _something_. "I think I'm going to go upstairs and lie down." Her mum nodded and let her go.

"Wren, over the summer? You handled Gran better than anyone," her mum said. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of that."

Wren left the storeroom and stomped up the back stairs. An assortment of charmed glass jars clinked with every step, splashing water from an overhead leak. Of course she handled Gran. Gran had needed her, and no one else was doing anything about it. She'd spent the entire summer treating her great grandmother the same way she would want to be treated if she was trapped inside a body that she couldn't control. Wren swallowed and rubbed her hand behind her ear and tried not to think of zombies again.

She might end up _being_ Gran one day.

.

.

.

Up in the suite above the Inn, Wren passed a sleeping Gran, propped up in a chair by the window. Her hair was arranged in a careful silver bun on top of her head and a brochure from the Leeds Getaway Resort lay across her chest. Wren wondered if her mum had put it in her lap while she stared out the window, or if Gran had chosen the brochure for herself. How far did Gran have to go to escape from what she had done?

All those years at the bungalow saving animals, Wren thought she had learned something about caring for hopeless causes.

"Mum is right. I don't understand."

Wren saw the red letters, "declined by family" stamped over the form. She saw the charts and the long-term diagnosis. It still didn't make it right. Gran's rule had always been to heal the animals when they could, and when they couldn't, to let them sleep peacefully until the end.

What if Frank and Alice Longbottom had woken up? What if Gran had let them rest another day and the miracle had happened then? Or what if someone had found a cure the next week? All the possibilities were taken away when Gran decided to stop trying. She hadn't even asked for Wren's opinion on the matter.

"They weren't voles or weasels or polecats, Gran. They were people. Don't we try harder with people?"

.

.

.

Wren woke hours later with her head still pounding inside her skull. Part of her was ashamed that she hadn't been more helpful for her mum. The rest of her was still upset over her family leaving her out of the biggest decision of her life.

Would she have argued with them?

Her head still hurt, even after sleeping. Strangely, Wren wished more than anything that she could hold Bunny close to her.

Wren's head was ready to split open when she stumbled downstairs and helped herself to whatever was on tap behind the bar. She sat down at the bar and sipped at the bitter froth.

"I've been waiting for you."

Wren was caught off guard by the thick accent that she couldn't place. Before she could protest, the strange barman swiped her beer out from under her and emptied it into the sink.

"Wait, I need that." Wren's voice came out as a croak.

"You need this more."

"Tea?" Wren squinted at the steaming mug in front of her and then back at the dark-haired stranger serving her from behind her mum's bar. Her head hurt too much to put up a proper protest. The tea was hot and scalded the back of her throat, but as soon as she gulped down the first mouthful, the urge to curl up into a tiny ball and die started to ease up. "Where's Mum?"

"Errands." For a barman, he didn't talk much. He slid an envelope over to her. "She said to give this to you."

Wren took the envelope, sealed with wax. Mum didn't trust him? She sipped at her tea, not wanting to trust this man either. He was tall, lean - unassuming the way a rook on a wizarding chess board just stood around until it was challenged by an illegal move. Curiously, he was drying the beer glass with a rag by hand.

"Where's your wand?" she asked him, squinting through the pain. There was something off about this man behind her mum's bar.

"I don't need one," he said simply. "Where's yours?"

Wren's mouth snapped shut. The way he was looking at her, almost like he was seeing through her, made her feel like he already knew about the failed charms and her troubles with using magic since getting back to school. She tried to rationalize in her head that she was still underage for another year and it didn't matter whether she had her wand with her or not since she wasn't allowed to use it. But the truth was that it was practically useless to her anyway and she hadn't seen the sense in carrying it around.

"Drink the tea," he urged.

Wren did, surprised at herself for doing as she was told.

"You look," the man said. Wren waited, but he didn't finish the sentence. He cleared his throat. "Be careful around your new friend." He slid a packet of dried herbs across the bar and it bumped her tea mug. "If you need more, I'll be here."

As he walked away, Wren tried to find words to retort with, anything really, that she could say to his retreating back. What did that mean, anyway? She had great friends.

By the time she realized that she didn't have anything to say, he was serving other customers, acting like they'd never spoken a word. Wren frowned. She didn't need him or his tea. She raised her hand to her forehead to rub at it, and then finally it dawned on her that the pain was gone.

Wren blinked a few times and experimentally shook her head gently from side to side. The internal banging had subsided. Her vision had cleared. She sat up in surprise and stared down at the tea. Whatever it was, it had worked.

Making sure the barman's back was turned, Wren swiped the packet of herbs into her bag. She didn't want him to think that she had been intimidated into taking it.

Weird. She read the letter from her mum, an apology for this morning, that they should have told her before the funeral so Wren had understood the situation better. It said that of course she was mature enough to handle life and she was sorry that she wouldn't be back before Wren's portkey was due back at the castle.

"Have a good week," Wren read aloud, sniffing. As if that was even possible. She folded the letter and stuffed it into her bag.

The barman stayed at the far end of the bar, but kept staring at her like she was meant for the dinner buffet. It made her feel so uncomfortable that she thought maybe she should tell someone. But what was she going to say, exactly? Tell her mum that the new help felt like a stalker? Knowing her mum, she'd probably already run the background check through the Ministry or she wouldn't have left him alone in the Inn with Gran sleeping upstairs.

She could already hear her mum, telling her that she was imagining things. Between her nerves, Gran and the headaches, and missing Bunny, she possibly was. Stalker or not, he had at least helped her with her headache. Besides, she was already sick of being mollycoddled by her family.

Her mum didn't have time for her problems, and Wren was afraid that if she said anything about _anything _(she eyed the barman suspiciously), she'd be coddled again.

Wren bundled her bag against her chest, remembering how Gran used to tell her that life was change. Well, she had definitely found that out the hard way, and she needed to start embracing the weird if she wanted her family to stop treating her like a little girl.

She was a witch. They lived with magic every day. There was no normal.

The next time the barman turned to look at her with a creepy, penetrating stare, Wren gave him a quick, brave smile of her own.

Whatever it was, and whatever was going to happen to her, she would handle it on her own.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: I can't believe we're already up to chapter 9! Are you still reading? Great! I'd love to hear what you think so far. Was the dark room scene from chapter 8 believable? (I've never actually done that, so it's all conjecture.) Any thoughts on Gran's decision, or the family neglecting to tell Wren what was going on? And oh no, Smeed! Did he poison Wren, or is he simply concerned with about her nutritional habits? This chapter was a bit on the heavy side, but there's more crunchy goodness coming up next time. By the way, if anyone is missing Dillon and his basket of rabbits, we'll see him again very soon. I promise!

I don't know if I mentioned this earlier, but so far, the weekly posting schedule is holding fast. *crosses fingers* New chapters can be expected on Fridays (or over the weekend, if it slips).

Thank you so much again to CambAngst, patronus charm and ladybirdflying for being the best betas in the world, and listening to my half-baked, crazy plot ideas! Thanks to YOU for reading, and thanks to everyone leaving reviews! It's like candy!


	10. Chapter 10A: Losing Heart

Chapter 10A: Losing Heart

Daylight filtered through the slats of the aluminum siding, casting long bands of yellow across the shadowed floor of the churchyard shed. Dillon sat back from the hot, uncomfortable sun. He ran his tongue along the insides of his teeth to chase away the stale metallic taste that lingered form yesterday's snack. It hadn't filled him completely, but it had been enough.

Scooting over to the darkest corner of the shed, he peered through the slats and saw no one except his rabbits nibbling on the grass under the shade of a tree. He frowned, turning away from the view, and sat up straighter, his eyes darting around the shed for the rest of them. Three furry lumps were still asleep, huddled together on top of an overturned wheelbarrow. Dillon pressed inside his mind and breathed with them, moving through their restful dreams of dense thickets and lush forest foliage. In a few hours they'd be fully recovered and ready for travel.

Still, something felt wrong. Dillon sensed his other rabbits around the corner of the shed, and found their presence immediately comforting. He leaned back against the sacks of manure and tried to relax.

The anticipation of finally reaching his ultimate destination excited him more than anything in his life. Dillon picked up his mother's journal, full of maps and squiggles that he'd only recently begun to understand, and tucked it behind his head as a pillow. She had been so weak the last time he'd seen her. So pale. Her smile had been a dim reflection as the light faded from her eyes.

He took everything his mother had given him, until he'd taken too much - and then it was too late. Dillon had tried to make her drink, like she had done for him. When she'd refused the thick, dark sludge, even when he'd put it in a glass for her, Dillon had taken it for himself.

"My boy," she'd whispered and closed her eyes.

He loved his mother for what she gave him, but he hated what she had taken away. There had been a sister… and a father, Dillon recalled, a _real_ family, once. That was before the blood and death… and the blood... and then the running far, far away from everything. It didn't matter how far they went, there was always more blood. It was why no other wizards would understand. "Don't tell. Never tell," his mother had told him. "They will hunt you down and hurt you."

Dark hiding places had become his home. Rats and voles had become his friends. He'd held on to the last letter his mother had written to the wise old wizard at Hogwarts... until the parchment yellowed and flaked away. She'd written so many that he didn't see the harm in keeping just one. Night after night, she'd sent those letters about him, and then they would wait, he and his mother, for a reply that never came. If the wise old wizard was the only one who could help him, why didn't he ever write back?

Dillon grabbed the journal and leafed through the brittle pages. His mother's letters stared back at him, giving him the resolve he needed to continue with his plans. He wasn't going to wait around for another forever.

"I'm going to make it," he said to the hanging rakes and shovels. "I really, truly am. And then I'll never have to be alone again."

His mother's heart was still beating when he left, promising her that he would never take so much from anyone ever again. Only a little bit to stave off the cravings, and only when he needed it, just as she'd taught him. He had to have friends. Dillon glanced over at the sleeping rabbits. It was best fresh, and they were so sweet.

He had new friends now, waiting for him at the castle. Dillon reached out farther in his mind to the little white rabbit that he'd given to Wren.

As Dillon saw through the little white rabbit's eyes, he spotted the door to her dormitory. He wondered where everyone was, and reached out to her, expecting to slip easily into her mind like before, but all he got was a view of the table legs from the rabbit hutch. Bunny hunched over and scratched at a belly itch with his hindquarters. Dillon tried to make the leap into Wren's mind again, but Bunny shook his head.

She called him "Bunny". And then, quite unexpectedly, Bunny blinked, and the dormitory room was gone.

Dillon let out a cry of frustration. The startled rabbits on the overturned wheelbarrow looked wide-eyed at him as he banged his fists into the manure bag. Friends didn't abandon friends like that!

He shut his eyes and reached out to the grey rabbit that he had sent away with the boy. It had never befriended the boy like the little white rabbit had bonded with Wren. The big, grey rabbit was willing - frantic even - to get him what he wanted.

He wanted Wren back! She had been so sweet and she had strong magicks. She couldn't leave him, not when he was so close!

Dillon felt the creature respond with a great desire to fulfill his wishes. He grinned and thought hard about Wren, until the grey rabbit understood.

"Find her. Get her back for me."

In Monday's Advanced Charms lesson, Wren was wedged between "Ravenclaw this and Ravenclaw that" and "I think he looked at me". She had been forced to listen to Callie and Rose jabbering nonstop since breakfast. At this point, Wren was considering running off to the toilets to stuff paper towels in her ears.

Elbowing a space between her boy-crazy friends, Wren flipped open her Advanced Charms textbook and fished her wand out of her bag. Yesterday afternoon, she'd meant to practice while Bunny sunned himself in a patch of clover. But she was so afraid of failure that she'd spent the entire hour tapping her wand like a nervous tick against a tree.

Rose suddenly turned to Wren. "Hey, I have an idea! We should go out to the Quidditch pitch and take some practice shots with your camera this afternoon!"

Wren's wand hummed in her hand, stronger than it had since she'd gotten back to Hogwarts. "Maybe." When no one was looking, she flicked her wand towards the small bowl on the floor and squealed triumphantly as sparks flew on the first try. It wasn't the stream of water that the professor wanted, but it was _something_.

She'd come back from the Inn on Saturday night, longing for the furry lull of her little rabbit, but when she'd fallen into her bed and snuggled up to Bunny, the blissful haze never came. Neither did the headaches the next morning after she left him in his cage to go down to breakfast. Wren thought it had something to do with the tea that the strange man had given to her.

The buzz in her brain had faded, allowing Wren to think about things for once, instead of feeling like she was floating around in a thick fog.

Everything felt more _real_ than it had before. She could hear the rhythmic swishing of her friend's wands on either side of her. The room echoed with low murmurs and soft giggles and the occasional melodic hiss as someone hit their mark with a spray of water into the metal bowls.

Rose paused to sigh longingly. "I was talking to the captain of the Ravenclaw team over the weekend. We thought you could start with them first. Ian Sloan said…"

Ian Sloan... Wren's brain frizzed, remembering how just the thought of having a boyfriend had been exciting and new. It must have been why she'd put up with his excessive arrogance, until that one miserable kiss had killed the whole thing. Worst waste of time, ever.

Rose was likely only interested in watching last year's waste of time fly around on a broom... Something clicked in Wren's brain. Wait a minute. Rose had been the one calling him the worst names of all: Gillyweed tongue... Harpie breath...

She tugged on Rose's sleeve. "You can't possibly be interested in Ian Sloan. Don't you remember last year?"

Rose put down her wand and looked at Wren with a straight face. "Took you long enough. Welcome back, Wren."

"What do you mean? I was only gone a day."

"More like the whole summer. This is the first time in forever that you've gotten out of your head to join us."

Callie agreed. "We thought that if you didn't react to Sloan, we'd have dragged you off to Madame Pomfrey for a head check."

Wren squinted at her friend. "Does that mean you're not into Ian?"

Rose half-grinned. "I might be. Does it bother you?"

"No." Wren twitched as Rose's eyebrows went up. "Yes," she corrected herself. "Only because he's such a troll. The worst thing about him was how nasty he got when I said it was over. No one needs to go through that."

Callie nudged Wren and winked. "She'd have better luck with Malfoy than him."

"I don't want to get lucky with Malfoy!" Rose retorted, and then immediately turned beet red. "Shut up!" She buried her face behind her Charms text, and for the next few minutes, Wren concentrated on their assignment without interruptions. Almost.

"Yes, she does." Callie whispered, startling Wren just as a jet of water finally sputtered out of her wand, missing the bowl she was aiming for.

"What the..." Ian turned around, robe dripping from Wren's mistake. "Oh, it's you. Try to watch where you're pointing that thing." He turned back around, shaking his head.

Wren was partially mortified, partially mad at Ian for dismissing her like she was nothing. She was a good witch. A good student. She should be decent at Charms like Callie and Rose, not making her ex-boyfriend's robe all wet.

Why was all of this so impossible?

Professor Ackerly held up a hand to regroup the class that had degenerated into shrieks and giggles. "It doesn't matter which bowl you put it in, but the water must land in the bowl. If I see anyone else aiming their wand at another student, it will be an instant detention!"

Wren gave up on her water stream and let her eyes wander to the table across the room. She watched Albus bounce his water stream from his own bowl to Scorpius' and then back again. How could anyone gain that much control over a spell so quickly?

"What about you, Wren? What do you look for in a man?" Rose's words cut through her observation like a knife, but Wren dismissed her friend's giggles and kept her eyes glued to her subject, hoping she'd glean some secret that Albus wasn't sharing with the rest of the class.

"Great aim," Wren murmured, watching the fluid wand work. She suddenly wished she had her camera. "He could probably do it wandless and wordless if he tried."

Callie looked where Wren was staring and giggled. "Shirtless too!"

Rose made a face. "That's my cousin, Callie. Eww."

"He's not _Wren's _cousin." Callie stuck out her tongue.

Wren's concentration finally broke. "You two are impossible."

When they settled down and left her alone, she tried going back to her wand work, but her eyes wandered back to Albus and his incredible technique.

As Professor Ackerly circled around the room making his observations, she went through the motions of the spell, Sunday afternoon's events playing over in her mind. Wren had spent several hours outside under the tree, half-pretending she was going to practice, and half hoping that he'd show up out of the blue. It had been their tree for the last few years, where they'd meet up when they had nothing else to do. But he never came. The sad part was that Wren couldn't even remember the last conversation she'd had with Albus.

She thought back to her birthday and Albus at the robes shop, all pinned up in brown tissue paper. They hadn't really talked then either. Maybe if she'd told him, instead of being too afraid...

Wren shook herself, trying to clear her head. This was all Callie's fault, she concluded, as Callie gave Wren a wink and giggled again.

Stop that. Stop it stop it stop it.

"Stop!" the professor called. "Wands down."

Everyone shuffled back into their seats as their scores for the day's efforts floated onto their desks. Wren's eyes widened. She hadn't realized that they would be graded today.

Professor Ackerly made some general announcement about their upcoming assessment. "Think of this as a practice test. And furthermore, House Points will be assigned to the top achievers of the day."

"Albus Potter got the highest mark." He paused for the audible groan from the class to die down. "Followed closely by Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley."

"Third?" Rose muffled her shriek behind her hands.

Wren's evaluation appeared in front of her and all she could do was stare at all the red marks. It was her first mark lower than an E on anything. She buried her face in her hands. How was she going to explain this to her parents?

Rose was livid. "I can't believe they both outscored me!" as Ackerly announced "Double points for Slytherin."

Callie patted Rose on the back. "You were only one point behind Malfoy. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself."

Rose sulked at her table while they gathered their books. "He's so pompous!"

"Rose," Wren said, waving her hand by Rose's ear, " Do you have time later today?"

"I can't believe it! One lousy point! I studied!"

"Maybe Scorpius does it better," Wren offered.

Rose turned on her. "Better than me?"

"Well," Wren began, frantically reaching for something to say that would soothe her irate friend, "you're usually brilliant at Charms, which is why I need your help."

"My help?" Rose's face was a keen scarlet by now. "Why don't you go and ask _them_ for help, if you're so desperate!"

The red-tempered girl stomped out of the room as Wren sucked in air, blinking back her desperation.

Rose wasn't usually so… like that. Rose was her best friend (she'd claimed many times), wasn't she? But if Rose didn't want to help her, if she wasn't even going to be around to talk to, then what?

She watched as Callie quickly gathered up her books and ran after their friend. Wren could ask Callie for some pointers, but she was notoriously bad at explaining things and had the patience of a pygmy puff. But what if they found out how crazy-bad she was? What would her friends do if they knew about her failing magic and the strange visions she'd been having? No one would want to hang out with a loser Charms flunkie.

Was it even possible for a witch to suddenly turn into a Squib?

Wren sucked on her lower lip and gathered up her things.

She wasn't going to cry.

* * *

A/N: Hello again! Thanks for reading my story! I'm trying something different from now on, breaking my chapters up a bit. The files are getting a bit longer, and with ffdotnet's format, it might be a bit too cumbersome to read all on the same page. Chapter 10 will be in two installments of less than 3k words each. Please let me know if this feels better on the eyes.

I guess this means that I'll have more chapters and more frequent postings, and twice as many chapter titles to think up with the word "heart" in them. That should be fun! I apologize in advance for any bad puns I come up with.

Again, a big thank you to CambAngst, patronus charm and ladybirdflying for their tireless beta eyes! Also, thanks to FredMischiefmanagedGeorge for your questions! I love hearing your thoughts and predictions, so please leave me a little note when you get the chance. I'll always respond to reviews!


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